


This Rusted Compass

by philos_manthanein



Series: Errors in Navigation [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Late 90s/Early 00s era, M/M, Mystery, Non-pairing character death, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-11 05:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philos_manthanein/pseuds/philos_manthanein
Summary: Nero just wants to live a normal life away from home. Meeting his estranged, alcoholic, P.I. uncle makes that pretty damn impossible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A while back I wrote a one-shot porn about Nero delivering pizzas and Dante working as a detective. This monster of a fic is a great expansion on that idea. 
> 
> This takes place around the late 90s-early 00s. Everyone is human with human problems and physiology.
> 
> Also, I didn't have an editor for this one so all mistakes/inconsistencies are my fault. I did try to edit it by myself.

Leaving home was less a natural progression and more an out-of-control rocket trajectory; a swift and hard crash into the world alone. Nero felt dizzy for days after he abandoned his father’s house. It felt like he was wandering through a fog, unsure of where to go or what to do with himself.

He didn’t want to turn back, though. He needed to get away and, he thought, Vergil probably had some amount of relief that he was gone. 

Vergil had only come into his life when Nero was a teen, anyway. Ever since then they had clashed constantly. There was resistance from day one. Reluctance, despite an internal inkling that Nero should have tried harder to accept his father. He’d thought himself an orphan too long for Vergil to fill that void. 

Too little, too late.

It wasn’t an abusive relationship. They just couldn’t mesh. Nero could admit he was kind of obstinate and too fond of undermining his father. Vergil didn’t really know how to be a dad, anyway. Sometimes he was too overbearing. Other times he was distant and seemingly uninterested in what his son got up to. Vergil tried, sort of, but Nero didn’t exactly make it easy. He’d been too angry. He was  _ still _ pretty angry. He didn’t understand why Vergil cared about him now when he didn’t know or care to know that he existed before.

Maybe that was unfair, but Nero had been out of sorts for too long to worry over Vergil’s regrets. He didn’t want to fall into the trap of dependency on a man who barely felt like family despite their blood ties. When he turned 21 he left with only a backpack full of essentials and felt every bit the lone protagonist in a “Young Adult” novel.

Nero had pinched and saved for the move. He kept all his earnings from his part-time at a pizza shack. Vergil never liked Nero’s job; said it was below his potential and Nero understood that was a backhanded compliment. 

But Nero liked the simplicity. Dealing with customers was hell, but working with his hands was rewarding. He sort of enjoyed not having high expectations thrust upon him. After he’d paid for a room in a cheap -in every sense- extended-stay motel, Nero decided to get work at another pizza place. 

It was a shaky start, but nearly a week into his new life Nero began to settle. Work was about the same as it was before, save for the fact his main job was making deliveries. The dinky beige scooter the store used was about ten years past its recommended retirement. With a cracked headlight and the rear storage basket held together with duct tape and prayers, it was a miracle the thing was even street legal. And he still had to help wash the dishes, cut the pizzas, and take phone orders in the time between, too.

At least he got along with his co-workers. More often it was just him and one other: A confident and loud girl named Nico. Her hair was a wild but soft nest of dark wavy curls and her olive skin was dusted in alternate swathes of freckles and tattoos. She was around his age but had technical seniority because she worked there longer. She didn’t hesitate to remind him of that. Constantly. 

But she was also hilarious and wildly intelligent. Her dark eyes always sparkled behind her cat-eye glasses when she had a chance to wield her wits to her advantage; either calling Nero out for his inadequacies or dealing swift, harsh judgment on unruly customers. But she could be encouraging - even kind - when the situation called for it. 

“Ya fucked up real good, Nero,” Nico said on their first shift together after Nero had dropped a fresh pizza face-down on the floor. “But we can un-fuck it, together, yeah?”

It seemed like they were both living below their potential, and that they both were just fine with that circumstance. Nero sided with optimism, thinking things could definitely be worse. 

Boy, did things get worse. 

Sunday night, the last shift before his first day off, was an absolute nightmare. He’d had busy Sundays before; it was Fall and that meant sports season which meant lots of loudmouthed, often drunk customers scrambling to get a last-minute dinner before the game. What he hadn’t accounted for was the sheer volume of orders compared to the last store he worked in. Added to the rather rough neighborhood, Nero could hardly hear himself think over the frenetic commotion in the store. 

Delivering wasn’t much better. Where he traded noise he got bad weather. Cold, drizzling rain whipped like needles in the wind and stung his face and hands as he zipped the company death-trap through the streets. The food was secure in his insulated delivery bag, but his clothes and hair became absolutely soaked. 

The last order came in fifteen minutes before closing time. The store was already cleared out, leaving the loudest noise coming from the buzzing fluorescent lights above and neon beer signs on the cracked-paint walls. He tried to argue against it, even as Nico punched it into the register. They didn’t have time to make and deliver another order on top of cleaning and shutting everything down. He expected Nico to agree, but she just shrugged.

“He got us on a technicality,” She said as the receipt printed, “He always does.”

“A regular?” Nero sighed as he rounded the counter to head to the backroom. “I got the dishes, you make the food.”

“Oh yeah, you’ll get used to him. Orders the same shit e’ery week. Always at the last goddamn minute, too.” 

“Sounds great. I already hate him.” Nero waved Nico off when she laughed as he started cleaning the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink.

By the time he’d slotted the last pan in the rack to dry, Nico called Nero up to take out his last delivery. Cross-referencing the address with the wrinkled, well-worn map on the counter revealed a building just a single block away. Somehow the close proximity to the store was more irritating than relieving. Was this asshole so lazy he couldn’t pick up his own pizza five minutes away? Sighing, Nero grabbed up the delivery bag and gave his farewell to Nico.

They agreed she would secure the store while he was out. All he would need to do was lock the moped up in the back parking lot and stick the key and payment envelope through the mail slot. Plan set, Nero begrudgingly strapped his thermal bag to the rear basket, snapped his helmet on, and took off.

The street was relatively clear so late; just a few minutes past 1 AM. It was still raining and cold. How was he gonna make deliveries during the winter? Would they really expect him to rattle the death-ped through the snow? Nero started to think he should save up for a real car before a real apartment. 

At least the drive was short. He pulled up in front of the designated building and shoved a quarter into the parking meter. You never know.

He took off his helmet and hooked the strap over his wrist before retrieving his delivery bag. The door he needed was on the ground floor, though the brass address plaque was missing a number. If he looked closely he could see the outline of the number left like a ghost against the door frame. A sign in the window proclaimed the suite was a detective agency. Weird, but maybe the guy worked late. Not finding a doorbell, Nero knocked instead. 

A few moments passed. No Answer. So he knocked again. Still nothing. So Nero pounded on the door with his fist, feeling aggravation swelling in his chest.

Finally, the door creaked open. Nero glanced at the man who opened it, then to the bag to fetch his order.

“Hey, I got a delivery, uh-” Nero paused and looked back at the customer.

He was a taller man who appeared twenty or so years older than Nero. His clothes were a rumpled casual mess of a t-shirt under a red coat that reached about knee-level and leather pants. He was scruffy, unshaven, with exhaustion in his eyes despite the grin that courted his mouth. What Nero noticed most - what he found immediately familiar - was the silvery hair that came to the man’s shoulders. He was too young to be greying. In fact, this trait was one that Nero’s father shared. Nero had it too, strange threads of silver hair.

Nero remembered, then.

“You’re my dad’s brother,” He spoke suddenly after an awkward pause. “Dante, yeah?”

“Weird way to say I’m your uncle, kid.” Dante laughed, then took a step back and gestured for Nero to come inside. “Nero, right? Wanna get outta the rain?”

Nero hesitated. The situation had his mind reeling. It’d been a long time since he’d seen his uncle. He’d only met him in person once, really, and that wasn’t long after Vergil had picked him up from the group home. It wasn’t a long meeting, because the twin brothers didn’t get along either. Nero couldn’t remember why Dante had visited in the first place, but he recalled it ended with a shouting match and slamming doors so violently he could feel the vibration echo upstairs in his bedroom.

Vergil still talked about his brother over the years, usually derisively. Nero always thought Vergil missed Dante, even though he wouldn’t say it. He never asked his father to explain more than he gave freely. Nero thought it wasn’t his business. He didn’t exactly care enough to press the subject, either. Seeing Dante again, however, boiled up some feelings about their dysfunctional family that Nero wasn’t willing to address. 

But, it was cold and wet outside. And he had a job to do. Would it be rude to refuse Dante’s invitation just because Nero was having issues with his father? Hell, maybe Dante could relate. 

Letting out a slow breath, Nero decided to accept. He stepped inside just enough for Dante to shut the door behind him. The air inside the office was barely warmer, but at least it was dry. 

Glancing around, Nero noted the general state of dishevelment around the room. There was a desk littered with paper, files, and bottles of liquor both empty and half-drunk. There were a couple of sofas that might have looked nice when they were new but were now worn and faded. A jukebox sat against the wall behind the desk; easily the nicest-looking thing in the room.

The wood floors were old, creaky, and even the large Persian-style carpets that covered them were covered with stains and holes. There was a staircase off to the side that lead up to the second floor. Everything was bathed in soft yellow light from aging fixtures and lamps, save for the harsh streetlights that penetrated through the slats of the window blinds.

All in all, it was how Nero would imagine some pseudo-noir detective agency. Looking Dante over again, he couldn’t help but think his uncle fit the aesthetic. Vergil used to comment on Dante’s undisciplined nature. Maybe he wasn’t too far from the truth.

“What’re you doing here anyway?” Dante asked as he stepped around Nero and headed over to his desk near the center of the room.

“You mean besides delivering pizza?” Nero replied then resumed retrieving Dante’s food from his bag.

He walked to the desk as well, placing a large pizza box on top. If Dante cared about the papers there, he didn’t say anything to object. 

“I live here,” Nero shrugged. “Just moved this week.”

“Got tired of livin’ with your old man, huh?” Dante chuckled and flipped open the pizza box to grab a slice. 

“Something like that. Y’know how he is.” Nero said a little awkwardly, though there was also a modicum of relief for whatever reason.

“Bet he was mad about it,” Dante spoke around a bite of his slice.

“Uh, I dunno.” Nero shook his head and smirked. “I kinda didn’t tell him I was leaving.”

“Oh, well…” Dante paused, then swallowed. “Then he’s  _ definitely _ mad about it.”

“Yeah... But he’s angry all the time, anyway.”

Dante laughed before taking another bite and continuing to talk with his mouth full. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Nero wanted to get away from the subject of his father. He really just wanted to go home. It wasn’t like he was obligated to stay and bond with Dante. Plus Nero was still cold and wet; he’d get sick at this rate.

“Listen, it was uh, great to see you again,” Nero told a half-truth, “But I should get going.”

“Oh yeah, no problem, kid.” Dante waved with his left hand while his right held onto his slice. “See ya around.”

A long pause. And then Nero spoke up again.

“You still gotta pay for that.” Nero indicated, pointing at the pizza steaming on Dante’s desk.

“Oh, right. Right, right.” Dante leaned over to dig in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out some crumpled up assorted bills.

“Thanks. Later, I guess.” Nero nodded, shoved the money inside a plastic envelope in his bag, then headed out the door.

Outside the rain had slowed to a smattering of tiny drops. The air was still brisk, especially on the moped. By the time Nero parked back behind the shop, he was practically shivering. He took the pay envelope out of the bag, unzipped it, and grabbed the cash. He should have counted it before he’d left Dante’s place. 

It was all there, though, with five cents left over. Five cents. That’s it. No other tip. Nero let out a growl of frustration and shoved the bills back in the envelope. 

He understood more clearly why Dante was a notorious customer.

Nero shoved the envelope and moped key through the mail slot. Not knowing what to do about the delivery bag and helmet, he left them strapped to the basket on the back. He used the chain and padlock that were left near the door to secure the moped to a nearby bike rack. It wasn’t exactly the safest security, but Nero really didn’t care. If someone stole it, then Nero wouldn’t have to risk his neck driving the stupid thing.

Finally, he walked home. The motel wasn’t very far, not that he had a choice this late anyway. A building long past its prime clinging to signage and design that was kitschy even when it was new. The parking lot asphalt was cracked and pitted, with curbs missing chunks of concrete. The tall steel sign supported a weathered cartoon cactus and painted cursive that would have read “Urban Oasis” if the backlight was working. As it stood now, the only lit sign was the one right below; “NO VACANCY” in bright red neon block letters that bathed the lot and building in an eerie glow. 

At some point in history, the place was presumably a real motel with real nightly visitors. Now it was mostly home to people like Nero, who for whatever reason couldn’t get an apartment and instead rented rooms by the week. In a way, he was lucky there was a free room for him on the second floor. Some of his neighbors had obviously lived there paycheck-to-paycheck for years.

The door always stuck a little. He had to shove it open with his shoulder. Once inside, Nero hustled into the bathroom past the full-size bed and small living chair. He peeled off his wet uniform. Temporarily leaving it on the sink counter, he hopped into the molded plastic shower with the water flowing as hot as he could stand it. 

When he finished, Nero dried off and hung the towel on a wooden rack over the toilet. Then he took his wet work clothes and draped them over the curtain rod to dry. The motel offered housekeeping, but once a week and only for bed linens and towels (which he only received one set of each). He was responsible for everything else, including toiletries. He’d brought some things with him, but soon he’d have to go shopping for necessities and food to put in his tiny mini-fridge.

This wouldn’t have been such a worry had he made more tips that week.  _ Dante _ .

Back in the bedroom/living area of his room, Nero dug through the backpack that sat in the wood-framed living chair. The cushions on the back and bottom were faded pink and green, in a striped style that was vintage to some era he couldn’t place. He pulled on a pair of black boxer-briefs. It was cold enough to need more layers, but he didn’t have any actual sleeping clothes.

After shutting off the lights, Nero climbed onto the bed and pulled over the covers. The sheet was plain white, but the duvet was made of lightly padded nylon with a pink rose and ivy pattern printed on one side. He considered turning on the small tube television that sat on a dresser against the right wall. But the remote was on the dresser, too. Feeling too tired and annoyed to get up, he settled for staring at the wood-paneled wall instead.

That neon light on the sign outside filtered in through nearly-sheer curtains, filling the room with a soft hue of red. Nero stared ahead. Tired, but awake. He thought about everything he needed to do when he woke up. He thought about work and how much he desired his own car. He thought about Dante and how weird it was that the divergent paths of life had made him look so different from his twin. 

He thought about Vergil.

He thought about how he should have said goodbye.

Nero covered an arm over his face and forced himself to go to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, I forgot to mention before but this fic will have alternating POVs between Nero and Dante.

Was there any truer sign of a guy having his shit together than day-drinking on a Monday morning? Dante laughed outwardly at his own inward joke as he refilled his glass. He wasn’t so far gone that he’d resorted to drinking his whiskey right from the bottle. Yet.

He probably had a problem.

Choosing not to mind that, Dante flopped into the chair behind his desk careful to hold the glass up enough to keep it from spilling. The pizza box from the previous night still laid on top of his various paperwork with various degrees of importance. He would get around to actually filing those, eventually. At the moment, he concerned himself more with digging out a cold leftover slice. Breakfast!

It still tasted good after laying out all night. There was a reason he liked that store so much. Of course, now things were a little more awkward with Nero working there. Dante wondered if he should tell Vergil where his son was. Would his brother even listen if he called? Most likely not. He decided to let those two sort out their own problems.

When his food was half-eaten and his alcohol was half-chugged his front door swung open. In walked a blonde, just like the movies. Legs up to  _ here _ , boobs out to  _ there _ ; the whole Dick Tracy deal. Except this wasn’t a mysterious stranger with a briefcase full of cash and a questionable libido. 

Dante knew  _ her _ . And he knew she was  _ trouble _ . Because she was there to make him  _ work _ .

“Trish!” Dante exclaimed happily. “How’s it going? They kick you off the force yet?”

Though Trish shook her head at him, she smiled back. “Really? You’re drinking.”

“Yep!” Dante made a show of knocking back what was left in his glass, then slammed it down on the desk. “So, what can I do for you? Or do ya for?”

Dante leered. Trish sighed. Then she turned for the door.

“This was a mistake-”

Dante jumped out of his chair and rushed over to put himself between Trish and the exit. “Hey! Wait! Wait, wait, just hold on a sec…”

Trish stopped and stared at him, a mixture of fondness and worry encapsulating her features. Dante did feel a little bad for being rude towards her. Their history went back quite a few years. To the days when they were both rookie cops, in fact. Not many people stuck it out with Dante after he was forcibly discharged, but Trish had his back through that whole mess even though it put herself in a bad light.

“You have a good reason to come here, right?” He asked placatingly. “And not for my devilish charms?”

Trish huffed out a small laugh, then seemed to relax. She shook her head again and her blonde hair swayed with the motion. Dante noticed she wasn’t dressed for work. This was unofficial business. Of course, it would have to be.

“You’re right, I have a case.” She replied, looking back up at him. “Can you even work?”

“Sometimes!” Dante grinned. “C’mon, you can tell me all about it.”

He waved her over as he walked back to his desk, then gestured at a sofa sitting across the room in front of him. While he waited for Trish to get settled, Dante picked up the pizza box to move it in some semblance of professionalism. He didn’t really have anywhere to put it, so he settled for dropping it on the floor next to his chair. He picked up two liquor bottles and set them next to it, too. 

“You have a problem,” Trish claimed out loud.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Spare me the intervention.” Replied Dante.

“Not...that.” Trish continued, “I mean you have a very  _ illegal _ problem that will likely land your charming ass in  _ prison _ , Dante.”

“Huh? Me?” Dante blinked at her, flabbergasted. “I don’t follow. What did I do?”

“Okay, pay attention.” Trish leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

The angle made the front of her blouse swoop down, revealing a decent amount of her cleavage. Dante knew that wasn’t what she meant him to pay attention to. He silently applauded himself for managing to avert his eyes without prompting.

“A couple of days ago, someone robbed our ward’s headquarters,” Trish began, “Specifically, they broke into our personnel records. Nothing else was disturbed. They even zeroed in on the exact file they wanted. Yours.”

“Mine?” Dante was genuinely surprised. “Why?”

Trish raised her hands, indicating her own disbelief. “Beats me. No clue. But it’s trouble for you.”

“Because?”

“Brass think you did it.”

Dante couldn’t stop the snort of a laugh that escaped him. “You gotta be kidding.”

“It’s what’s going around. Lots of people are still pissed at you, you know.” Trish sat back, resting now with her hands flat against the seat on either side of her thighs.

“Or they’re just blaming me ‘cause I’m an easy scapegoat. Maybe someone inside did it just to get back at me. Maybe they’re setting up for some revenge.” Dante offered in annoyance.

“That’s kind of what I hoped you’d figure out, Mister P.I.” Trish smirked.

“Wait, so you’re handing me a case about myself?” 

Trish nodded. “I’ll help what I can, of course. But it’s risky for me to even be here talking to you. I don’t mind putting myself in hot water for you  _ again _ , but we’ll need to be able to work inside and out if we’re going to figure this out.”

Dante let out a low whistle. “You really think it’s a good idea? Putting yourself on the line again? For little ol’ me?”

“Dante,” Trish regarded him with both affection and exasperation, “If it means clearing you  _ and me _ ? That reckonings been coming, they just handed us a jumpstart.”

Dante felt his expression soften at that. “You’re a good bean, Trish.” He stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles, then continued. “So, got any leads?”

“You still got that file?” Trish asked.

“Yeah,” Dante reached to the bottom left drawer of his desk and yanked it open. 

Out of all the cases he’d taken since he left, he always knew exactly where  _ this _ file was. A thick and worn heavy binder, full of many dog-eared and scribbled-upon pages. It made a loud thud when he plopped it on top of the desk. Trish stood and walked over to get a better look.

“This is where we start looking. I’ve got a few suspicions, but I wanna see what information you have first.” She said, flipping open the cover. 

“C’mon, we both know who’s actually at the head of this.” 

“Yeah, but he’s not gonna get his hands dirty like that.” 

Dante chuckled as he reached to pick up a half-empty bottle off the floor. “I assume they didn’t keep the copy I turned over?”

“If they did it’s disappeared as mysteriously as your personnel record has,” Trish mentioned, “Oh, and Dante?”

She snatched the whiskey bottle out of his hand and shook it in front of his face. 

“We’ll be drinking  _ water _ .” Trish smiled at him threateningly.

“I knew you were gonna be trouble.” Dante agonized.


	3. Chapter 3

Weeknights were relatively slow. Nero appreciated that, but it also meant a lot of boredom. A lot of time not making any tips, either. At least he would be getting his first check on Friday. Maybe then he could eat something other than cereal, cup noodles, and unclaimed breadstick orders.

During downtime, he and Nico played cards on the order counter. She taught him Texas Hold ‘Em and he taught her Spades. They talked a little, too. Mostly about inconsequential stuff, like the weather or television shows or how much the current song on the radio made them want to stick toothpicks in their ears.

Sometimes they talked about personal things, though. Nico usually started it. She would bring up her childhood and tell him stories about school, regaling him of the many detentions she received and how undeserved they were. She claimed she was always the smartest student in class. That she’d been discriminated against because she made teachers feel stupid. Nero believed her, too.

Nero never stayed in one school very long as a kid, though that changed after his father picked him up. Still, he told her that he mostly shuffled through, looking only toward the day he could leave. He left out the parts about his dad harassing him to do better, and how they fought about Nero’s future. 

When it came to Vergil, Nero didn’t share much. How could he? He barely knew the guy enough to have stories to tell. But Nico raged about her dad openly. From the sound of it, they both knew what it was like to have someone who was both overbearing and also hardly there.

On Thursday they wrapped things up early. No last-minute orders came in, so shutting everything down and locking up was easy. They were out the door at 1 AM on the dot. Nico immediately lit up a cigarette in the parking lot. Nero waved to her, intending to head back to his motel.

“Hold up,” She called and he paused, “D’ya wanna go out for a drink?”

“It’s kinda late.” Nero looked up at the dark sky.

“And?” Nico laughed.

Nero sighed and then gave her a long stare. “In case you forgot, I buy my groceries from  _ the dollar store _ . I don’t exactly got the cash to get wasted on a Thursday. Plus, we gotta work in the morning.”

“First of all, it’s technically Friday,” Nico explained after blowing out a large plume of smoke. “Secondly, you can drink without gettin’ shitfaced. Unless yer some kinda lightweight lil bitch.”

Nero laughed and rolled his eyes. “Nico-”

“Nuh-uh.” Nico held up a finger. “Third, all yer gonna do is go sit at home in yer boxers watchin’ TV and stewin’ in yer lonely bachelor miasma.”

She waved her hand around in front of her as if imagining some sort of stink cloud surrounding Nero. 

“Yeah, probably.” Nero shrugged, smirking at his friend’s antics. 

“So? Ain’t hangin’ out with me and havin’ some goddamn fun for once the better option?”

“Debatable.” Nero snarked.

Nico stood with one hip out, tapping her foot impatiently in exaggeration while she finished her cigarette. She wanted an answer. He knew the answer she wanted wasn’t a “no”.

Nero mulled it over for a moment. She was right. He wasn’t big on drinking, but he wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending another night watching sitcom reruns alone, either. It wasn’t the most responsible idea, but it was the less boring one.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go. But you gotta buy me dinner too.” Nero demanded. 

He followed Nico toward the mini-RV she inexplicably chose for a daily vehicle. She always insisted that she didn’t actually live out of her van. It was for fun and pleasure. Whatever that meant. Nero really didn’t want to know.

“And here I thought you’d be a cheap date,” Nico complained, climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the door.

“This is a date?” Nero teased as he got in on the passenger side.

“Hell no!” Nico barked back. “Sorry, sweetpea, but you ain’t my type.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Nero chuckled.

It took a couple of tries to get his door to latch fully closed. That should have worried him more. Before he could have second thoughts, Nico fired up the engine and began pulling out of the parking lot.

Nero didn’t ask where they were going. He wouldn’t have known the place anyway. Besides, he spent most of the ride in a state of bewilderment and terror at Nico’s driving. It became quite obvious why  _ she _ wasn’t allowed to make deliveries. 

She weaved in and out of lanes signal-free and blind to any speed limit. When a light turned red she slammed on the breaks and cursed as if the thing insulted her personally. On the green, she would peel out like she was in a drag race. 

It was obscene she even had a license. When Nero vocalized this concern, she just laughed.

“Didn’t I tell ya this baby was meant for fun?”

“Honestly?” Nero replied, “I just thought that meant you fucked in it a lot.”

That just made her throw her head back and howl with laughter. 

The weirdest part of the trip, though, was how expertly Nico managed to parallel park the hulking van in front of the bar. In a way, that was scarier than her reckless driving. After the whole ordeal, Nero felt that, yes, he could definitely use a drink.

A plain white sign over the door read “Nice”. Just “Nice”. It was undoubtedly a joke.

Inside, the bar was a pretty typical dive. Bare concrete floors, stained this way and that with shoe prints, rubber residue from stool feet, old gum, and other spots of dubious origin. Nero thought the walls were burgundy, but it was difficult to tell under the posters, stickers, and other forms of vandalism that covered the paint. A row of scratched and worn wooden booths with scratched and worn wooden tables lined one wall. 

The bar itself seemed just as time-eroded and it stretched from the mirror-covered back wall and curved to the right. Stools dotted its side, each one miss-matched with the others. Cheap, paper lanterns dangled overhead. Over those hung many string lights that zig-zagged from one wall to the other. There was a jukebox in the corner. The music was something sufficiently bluesy to fit the mood of the place. People lingered in various spots, though it wasn’t a crowd and overall the noise level was tolerable.

Approaching the bar, Nico grabbed a laminated sheet of paper off the counter. She handed it to Nero, then tapped her finger at a row of text near the bottom. That section was labeled “Kids Menu” and it contained a list of light beers.

“There ya go,” Nico teased.

“Keep it up and I’m gonna order something top-shelf,” Nero replied as he skimmed over the page.

“As if this place got one.” Said Nico, waving the bartender over. 

It looked like there wasn’t a kitchen, but there was an assortment of typically salty snacks to order. Nero supposed a dinner of pretzels and beer wasn’t all that different from dollar store food in terms of nutrition. In the end, he ordered the same bottled domestic beer as Nico, a bowl of hard pretzels, and took both to a booth in the back. 

“Why do I get the feeling you brought me here so you wouldn’t have to buy me real food?” Nero commented once they settled in.

“Quit yer bitchin’,” Nico scowled with only a bare hint of actual malice, “I figured we’ll hit up a drive-thru later.”

“Can I reemphasize the words ‘real food’?” Nero prodded more.

“Rich comin’ from a guy that eats pepperoni slices for lunch.”

“Hey, I’m practically destitute.” Nero laughed.

A few minutes passed wherein they drank quietly, listening to the music and sharing pretzels. It wasn’t an awkward silence, just a comfortable one. People filtered out of the bar and few came in. In an hour or two it would likely be closing time anyway. Nero could sort of see the appeal of going out late as opposed to meeting the early evening throngs.

“So,” Nico spoke up again as she took a swig of beer, “Ya got a girlfriend?”

Nero laughed, then shook his head. “No. How about you?”

“Not yet.” Nico shrugged.

“That mean you got someone in mind?” Nero implored more.

“Maaaybe…” Nico was intentionally vague. “Ain’t nobody you know, though.”

“I mean, I don’t exactly  _ know _ anyone ‘sides you and…” Nero trailed off, because the only other person he knew came walking through the door. “Shit.”

“Hm?” Nico followed the line of his eyes in the same direction, looking over her shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“Dante.” Replied Nero grumpily. 

His uncle hadn’t noticed him yet, but Dante drew attention to himself by appearance alone. He wore the same long red coat as before, and the same pants and boots, too. The shirt was a different color, at least. It gave some semblance that the older man had at least showered since Sunday. The worst change to his appearance, though, was the soft leather cowboy hat currently sat on top of his head. He watched Dante actually tip it at the bartender with a grin while he ordered a drink.

“So that’s the last-minute guy?” Nico mused. “Huh…”

“Stop leering,” Nero begged and leveled her a serious stare. “He’s not your type either.”

Nico looked back to Nero with a smirk. “I can appreciate a guy that can pull off the whole ‘gay cowboy’ thing without wantin’ to screw ‘im, y’know.”

“Aw, well thanks, pardner.” Said Dante, who had walked up to their table otherwise unannounced.

Nero and Nico both looked up at him. Dante tipped his hat again. Nico grinned. Nero groaned. 

“Hey, Dante. Nice to finally meet in person.” Nico greeted with a cutting sort of smile. “I just  _ love _ how ya make me work overtime e’ery week.”

There wasn’t a fault in Dante’s own smirk at being called out. He just took a sip from his tumbler of liquor. “I always call before you close, right?”

“Barely,” Nico commented then gestured between Nero and Dante. “So you two know each other?”

“Barely,” Nero responded first.

“You related?” Nico pressed further, tapping a finger against the top of her head when Nero squinted at her. “The hair.”

Nero sighed. “He’s my dad’s brother.”

“Do you have some sort of aversion to calling me your uncle or something?” Asked Dante amusedly.

“Is this a job interview? Stop with the questions.” Nero waved a hand dismissively. 

“Sure, sure.” Dante shrugged. “Mind if I join you, though?”

“Kinda.” Replied Nero.

“Nope!” Exclaimed Nico, scooting over in her seat.

Dante chose to ignore Nero in favor of sliding into the booth next to Nico. Those two hit it off pretty well, Nero thought. Nico launched into some banter about Dante’s order history at work; a lot of unveiled jabs that Dante took and even returned with surprising wit. Nero didn’t mind just sitting back and listening, watching. 

His mind sort of wandered as he observed. He’d been surprised before by how different Dante had looked from Vergil. Sitting closer now brought that more into focus. Dante’s face held signs of his age more than his brother, likely because Vergil was so meticulous about taking care of himself. It didn’t make Dante ugly or anything. He was just more ruggedly handsome where his twin was modelesque.

Eventually, Nico asked Dante to let her out of the booth.

“Gotta use the shitter.” She indicated after finishing off her beer. 

“Classy,” Nero commented back. 

He watched Dante slide out and Nico climb over then cross the floor toward the bathrooms. Dante sat back down across from Nero. Nero noted Dante’s drink was almost empty too. He looked down at his bottle, realizing it was still over half full.

“That your girl?” Asked Dante suggestively.

Nero grunted. “No.”

“She’s nice.” Dante pestered more with his tone.

“I mean, I guess? Stop that.” Nero chastised. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer’s ‘no’.”

“Fiiine,” Dante chuckled. “I didn’t really get that vibe from you guys anyway.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re that insightful?” Nero took a swig from his beer.

“I’m pretty damn good at picking out other people’s inner demons.” Dante bragged. “It’s my job.”

“Ah, right.” Nero huffed and drummed the fingers of one hand against the table. “Gotta say it’s kinda hard to believe you get any ‘sleuthing’ done walking around like that. You look like a stripper heading for a bachelorette party.”

“Thanks!” Dante smiled brightly. “I’m in-cog-neato.”

“Is that so?” Laughed Nero, shaking his head at Dante’s excessiveness. “Y’know what? Vergil’s right about you.”

“Yeah? How so?”

Nero leaned forward, reached across the table to grab the brim of Dante’s stupid hat, then shoved it down over Dante’s eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Dante just chuckled and shoved the hat back up to its proper place. Nico finally emerged from the bathroom. She approached the table but didn’t move to reclaim her seat. 

“Ready to grab dinner?” She asked Nero.

He nodded, taking a final sip of beer before sliding out of the booth. Nico started digging out her wallet, but Nero steadied her arm.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” He assured her, “Dante’s got the tab.”

“He does?” Asked Nico.

“I do?” Asked Dante.

“Yeah. For that tip you  _ forgot _ to give me on Sunday, remember?” Nero grinned deviously.

Dante blinked. Then he sighed. Then he laughed, seeming half-surprised and half-impressed by Nero’s initiative.

“Alright, you got me.” Dante threw his hands up in defeat. “You kids get outta here.”

Nero beamed with pride as they turned and headed for the exit. That was until Dante called out once more, right as Nero pulled open the door.

“Don’t get pregnant!”

Nero felt a hot prickle of embarrassment crawl up his neck. The few remaining patrons had a good laugh behind him. Even Nico burst out into a loud cackle. She threw a look back at Dante.

“Don’t worry! He’s still a virgin!” She shouted back.

“Ugh,” Nero groaned and hastily ducked outside. 


	4. Chapter 4

It was pretty difficult to stalk a stalker. Dante had enough experience to know. Sometimes they weren’t as covert as they thought, but this guy was pretty good. It took four changes of location before Dante was sure he was being followed. And he wasn’t even trying to hide.

He hadn’t meant to find Nero at the bar. That was a happy coincidence. It made for a good last-minute excuse; making it look like he’d intended to meet up with friends. He’d sat next to the girl. Talking with her was legitimately fun, but really he took her invitation so he could freely look into the mirrors on the back wall. There he could see his stalker enter.

A thin man with black hair, black tattoos, and pale skin. Almost sickly; waif-like in the draped dark fabric of his clothing. He walked with a cane, but that could have been for style. Dante had seen glimpses of him all day, everywhere he went. If he had trouble walking he was certainly motivated to move quickly.

The stalker was almost certainly connected with the personnel file case, though Dante couldn’t figure out why. Dante didn’t recognize him. Nobody would go to those sorts of lengths to dig up dirt on him unprovoked. It made him wonder if the stalker was some poor hired goon, contracted by the ward brass to keep tabs on him. He’d have to find a way to call Trish and let her know his suspicion. Hopefully, word hadn’t already got back that she’d come to him. 

The guy got a drink and sat at the far end of the bar opposite the booth. Dante kept an eye on him, but he hardly looked over at Dante. Keeping it casual, trying to be subtle. Sticking out to fit in. Dante played that kind of game too.

He was only half-engrossed in conversation with Nero when his nephew teased him and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Dante laughed. It was funny. And he felt bad for basically using Nero as a cover. 

They didn’t know each other personally, but for all his obvious discomfort Nero still let Dante stay. He still talked to him and made jokes at his expense. Nero was more light-hearted than his father. His smile was genuine and warm. Dante sort of wished he could have a chance to really hang out with Nero, without pretense.

When Nero and Nico left, Dante took Nero’s leftover beer and finished it off. Hey, he got stuck with the tab anyway, so why let it go to waste? It didn’t taste bad. So maybe Nero just wasn’t a drinker? Good on him, Dante thought. 

The stalker moved. Dante kept his head lowered, still, but watched peripherally through the mirror. He watched the young man step forward. His cane tapped gently against the concrete floor. That was when Dante noticed the guy had a limp. The cane wasn’t for show, then. Dante bit his tongue as the stalker came closer. He didn’t stop walking. Keeping his careful and determined steps, he passed right by Dante’s table and continued forward to the jukebox in the corner. Through the mirror, Dante could see a slight smirk on the stalker’s lips. Then the stalker glanced to the mirror as well, meeting Dante’s eyes. 

Their shared gaze lasted barely a second. Then the younger man went back to fiddling with the machine. He stuck in a quarter and punched a few buttons for a song. The jukebox crackled with some guitar and vocals; nothing terribly different from the usual blues-and-bluegrass fare that had been playing before. The song didn’t seem too interesting until the stalker turned around and walked by again. Again not hesitating, all the way until he was out the door and gone.

Well, okay then.

Clearly this was some sort of gimmick. Some sort of hook. Dante should have known better than to bite. But, oh, was he a sucker for temptation.

Getting up, Dante walked over to the jukebox. He scanned over the display, easily finding the current track. The title stood out: “Meet Me In The Alleyway”.

Okay, so maybe his stalker wasn’t so subtle after all.

It was probably a trap.

Dante sighed. 

He turned and followed the same path towards the exit, stopping only to pay the tab because the bartender quite loudly reminded him to. Stepping outside, Dante met with only a breeze and near-empty streets. The city always took on a weird ghost-town vibe this late.

“The alleyway, huh?” Dante pondered out loud. “Which one?”

Really, there were many that twisted and turned between the buildings and streets. Dante hazarded a guess that his stalker meant the one behind the bar. He paused to pat his hip, making sure his handgun was still in its holster, just in case. Then he rounded the side of the bar and stepped into the shadows between buildings. 

The alley was pretty empty, save for the usual dumpsters and litter and the strong stink of garbage mixed with piss. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find syringes and bloodstains if he looked hard enough. Someone, at some time, had spray-painted an enormous cartoon werewolf on one wall. Later, someone else had come by and added an equally cartoonish dick to the werewolf. 

“Nice,” Dante said in half-admiration of the art before looking around some more. “Well, I’m here!”

His call bounced off the walls and rang into silence. 

“Can we stop the foreplay and get to the part where you fuck me?!” He provoked again.

This time there was a response: “Hey, you!”

Then came a light, bright and annoying, shining right in his eyes. Dante put his hands up to shield his eyes.

“Hands up!” The voice said and Dante realized then it was a cop with a flashlight. And a gun!

Great.

He shrugged and held his hands up a little higher. At least the officer lowered the light enough so he wouldn’t have to squint. Dante blinked a little to get his sight back, then tried to make out the figure at the end of the alley. Some young male beat cop. Dante didn’t recognize him. He couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

“What are you doing back there?” The cop asked.

“Would it help or hurt me if I said I was waiting for someone?” Dante answered with a joke.

The cop didn’t laugh. They rarely did.

“We got a report of someone loitering.” Officer Serious explained. “Step out here, by the car.”

Dante obliged, sparing another glance around for his stalker. Nothing. He stepped onto the sidewalk next to the police car that sat behind the officer.

“Can I put my hands down?” He appealed with a friendly smile.

“No,” the cop replied, “You been drinking?”

“A little,” Dante admitted, “I’m not drunk, though.”

“Yeah, sure.” Replied the cop. “Put your hands on the roof.”

“Okay, okay.” Dante did as he was told.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar situation. He’d had run-ins before. That was kind of expected when you toed the line between P.I. and vigilante. Not that he ever crossed it, but it made cops jumpy. This was different, anyway. He was technically on a case, but it wasn’t like he could placate Junior here by saying he was looking into a theft that he was personally a suspect in. 

They went through the whole body search routine. Dante warned up-front that he did have a weapon, and yes it was legal, and  _ yes he got it engraved thanks for admiring it _ . His ID was called in and it came back with no warrants, which was honestly a relief. It meant nobody had enough proof to legally implicate him in a crime, yet. Still, the officer said he was going to take Dante in. For public drunkenness and general mischief. 

Bullshit.

Dante acquiesced, though. He didn’t really have a choice if he wanted to keep his head above water. So he let himself get cuffed and shoved in the back of the cruiser.

Just as the officer was rounding the car to the driver's side, a shrill alarm broke into the night. Loud enough to make his ears hurt, Dante grimaced and shook his head to try and escape it. But it practically screamed inside his head; a horrendous banshee of a bell. He tried to look and see where it was coming from.

And then Dante noticed the smoke. Thick and black, billowing up and blotting out the moon and stars. Tendrils of flame reached and fell out of sight, then raged and climbed higher. From where he sat Dante could tell it was coming from the bar, though he could only see the roof. Something else caught his eye. A figure on a fire escape. Not on the burning building, but close enough to be silhouetted by the growing light of the flames. It turned and Dante could make out more. A thin body clothed in black, holding a cane. 

The stalker. 

Dante was startled by the driver’s side door opening. The cop ducked in to answer his radio with a finger pressed over one ear to block out the sound of the fire alarm. When Dante looked back to the fire escape his stalker was gone. 

***

He never got to see the full extent of the conflagration. After the fire department arrived, Dante was hauled in as promised. They weren’t in Dante’s former ward, but that really didn’t make a difference. He had a reputation that lingered even without a file to reference. 

They took his gun and they took his  _ hat _ , and he felt personally insulted by the latter. His handcuffs were locked to a steel chain on a table in an interrogation room. There he was left alone.

Well, relatively speaking anyway. 

Glancing up, he could see the security camera high in the corner. He nodded and flashed a wide grin, knowing someone was watching. He had always watched the new arrests back then, looking for their tells. Of course, that was homicide, when those sort of things mattered to a case. Dante couldn’t help but feel this was an awful lot of security for an arrest that should have seen him tossed in the drunk tank for the night.    


“Get these cuffs off and I can give you guys a  _ real  _ show!” Dante shouted and shook his wrists, making the chains jangle and slap against the table in a horrible racket.

A response didn’t come. He didn’t expect there would be one. The quiet stretched a long while, with only a dull hum of the building’s air conditioning to keep total silence at bay. Dante couldn’t find anything interesting about the four white walls that cocooned him. He decided to rest his arms on the table, then rested his head on his arms. Might as well sleep a little.

***

He awoke to the metal door screeching open. It was impossible to tell how long he’d actually napped, but judging by how tired he still felt it likely wasn’t very long. Dante didn’t raise his head. He just listened to the footsteps that entered. They stopped, then came the sound of something dropping softly onto the table in front of him. Probably a file folder. 

Dante raised his hands, pointing both index fingers up. The gesture intended to silence whatever blabber was about to come out of whoever was there to interrogate him. 

“Lawyer first.” Dante grumbled sleepily. “C’mon, you know I know my rights.”

“We’d just like to talk about the fire.” Came a placating female voice. 

Soothing, motherly. 

Bullshit.

“Sure! After I call my lawyer.” Dante chuckled softly, the edge of the table digging into his ribs.

A pause, and then: “Bring a phone.”

One set of footsteps shuffled off. Quiet lingered, mutual annoyance saturating the air like fog. Dante’s spine started to hurt from being hunched over. He finally sat up when he heard steps returning. He was handed a phone.

“Cordless! Fancy shit.” He complimented.

“Press nine to dial out. Keep it under five minutes.” The female investigator instructed.

Dante nodded and punched in the number he’d memorized. It was kind of difficult to do with his wrists still cuffed, but he managed and then tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder to hold it up. Three rings, an answer in the middle of the fourth. A familiar, tired woman’s voice slightly muffled by a shuffling noise. He likely just woke her up.

“Dante,” She said without prompting, “What’d you do?”

“Hey Lady,” Dante cooed her nickname affectionately, “How’d you know it was me?”

“What did you do?” Lady grumbled and there was more rustling on the line. 

Dante could imagine she was already sitting up. Already getting prepared to come bail him out of another bind. He quietly thanked his foresight in surrounding himself with terrifyingly competent women. 

“Nothing,” Replied Dante cooly, “I need you to come and prove all the nothing I did.”

He could practically hear the roll of her eyes. “Where?”

“Ward Six interrogation,” He answered, “Hey can you pick up some donuts on the way?”

“No.” Lady snorted. “Be there in fifteen.”

The line went dead. Dante still held onto the phone. He waved it at the two investigators looking down at him. 

“That was under five minutes, yeah?” He said with a grin. “Think I got time to order out?”

The female investigator snatched the phone out of his hand and then shoved it into the chest of her smaller male partner. He fumbled with it a moment, then clutched it with both hands. He was definitely the rookie in this situation, Dante thought. Sitting back in his seat as comfortably as manageable, Dante prepared to wait out the next quarter-hour being as obnoxious as possible.

“So, who’s the big spoon and who’s the little?”

***

“You’re so lucky,” Lady informed him hours later as the cuffs finally came off. “So lucky I could puke. God.”

“Only ‘cause you got my back, right?” Dante smiled and rubbed his sore wrists.

She leveled him a serious look. “Public mischief. Belligerence. Potential  _ arson _ . Public intoxication-”

“I like that you consider that one worse than arson-”

“Because I know  _ that one _ is closest to the truth. It’s the only one I, in good conscience, couldn’t argue down. You’re  _ lucky _ they don’t have anything solid enough to tie you to the fire right now.” 

“I didn’t start the fire,” Dante grinned, unable to stop himself singing out: “ _ It was always burning, since the world was turn- _ ”

Lady reached over and smacked him across the back of his head. “Knock it off.”

“Do you always physically assault your clients?” Dante complained as he rubbed the back of his skull.

“Only you. Only because you deserve it.” Lady finished off her third cup of police station coffee since she had arrived.

She was as put-together as always, even after being called on in the wee twilight hours. Her bobbed black hair was neatly brushed into place and she was all but squeezed into her suit jacket, blouse, and skirt. Dante had great fun watching the way that one rookie detective had stared while they sat through questioning. She was cunning. Threatening, too, for her size. Dante felt a little envious.

“When were you gonna tell me about the theft?” She asked once they were alone.

“You talked to-” Dante stopped himself, remembering the camera above and how they weren’t truly alone at all. “You two talked?”

“She came to me.” Lady dropped her voice to a whisper without further prompting. “Said you’d need all the help you could get.”

“So you already know, anyway.” Dante shrugged. “So, what? She doesn’t actually trust me to handle my own case?”

Lady squinted at him incredulously. “Need I remind you that you’re currently sitting in an interrogation room? That up until a few minutes ago you almost got yourself jail time for generally being an asshole?”

“Is that a charge that holds up in court?” Dante joked. 

“Listen,” Lady leaned in a little, an air of warning in her tone. “Whatever is going on here, it’s big. Too big for any one person to handle alone. You should know that. You  _ do _ know that, Dante. We wanna help, but nobody can help you unless you  _ let them _ .”

Dante took a deep breath in. He scrubbed his hands over his tired face. He could feel the prickles of his now two-day-old stubble scrape against his palms. He wanted to go home already. He wanted a drink.

“Alright, okay. Fine. I get it.” He said, “Stop mothering me.”

Lady smiled then. “It’s been a long night. All you gotta do is pay off the fine for intoxication and we can get you home.”

“Yeaaah, about that…” Dante grimaced a little. “Think you could-”

“No.” Lady interrupted. “You already know I’m doing this little  _ consultation _ for free.”

“C’mon, didn’t we just have a great heart-to-heart?” Dante pressed.

Lady crossed her arms and stared, each of her heterochromatic eyes boring into him viciously. They both knew he already owed her debts, financial or otherwise. It was the decent thing to do.

Decency was overrated.

Dante gave in anyway.

“Fine, bring back the phone.” He said, beckoning with one hand.

“Who are you gonna call?” Lady asked.

“Gonna place an order for delivery.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ignoring phone calls before opening hours was a pleasure and a pain. A pleasure, because you didn’t otherwise get to so blatantly not give a shit about what the person calling wanted. A pain, because the more stubborn ones would continue calling. Over and over, as if they thought you just missed it or didn’t hear or if they were just _ obnoxious enough _ they could trick you into serving them early just to make them shut up.

Nero and Nico agreed whoever was blowing up the work phone an hour before opening could readily fuck off and wait.They were both already perturbed about having to work the opening shift anyway. The phone had been ringing before Nico even unlocked the door. And it didn’t stop ringing as they shuffled about that late morning setting up the soda fountain, prepping the pizza dough, and refilling the topping bins. 

It turned into a kind of endurance test. They both desperately wanted to make the calling end. Neither wanted to be the one to cave and answer. 

After 35 minutes, Nico’s rage finally came to a head and she nearly ripped the phone - cord, housing, and all - off the front counter.

“WHAT?!” She shouted into the handset. “WE AIN’T OPEN!”

Nero stifled a laugh as he dumped a bag of sort-of-fresh mushrooms into their designated container. He felt a little victorious that he managed to hold out more patiently, if barely. Karma swung back immediately.

“It’s for you,” Nico grumbled, holding the handset out at him.

“Me? Who is it?” Nero asked.

“Dante,” Nico answered then shoved the phone into his hands.

“Dante?” Nero pressed the receiver against his ear, confused. “What do you want?”

“Hey, buddy.” Dante’s voice inclined in his ear. “Got a favor to ask you.”

Nero squinted in suspicion instinctively. “We don’t do early deliveries.”

“Not that! Not this time anyway,” Dante went on, “I need you to break into my office for me.”

“...What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly legal, kinda. I need you to bring me something.”

“Get it yourself.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?!” 

“I kinda got... arrested. It’s a long story. But look, don’t hang up-”

Nero paused, because he _ was _ ready to hang up and was motioning to do so. He sighed, then pressed the phone back to his ear.

“Don’t hang up,” Dante repeated, “I really need you to help me out here.” 

“Dante…” Nero sighed. “What _ exactly _ do you need?”

“In my desk, bottom drawer on the left, there’s a black lockbox. I need you to bring it to the station. Otherwise, I’m gonna be stuck here for who knows how long.”

“What’s in it?”

A shifting noise, and then Dante’s voice sounded sort of muffled, like he was covering his hand over the phone and whispering so nobody else could hear.

“I sorta keep all my money in there.”

“...You really are a fucking idiot.” Nero rubbed his free hand over his eyes. 

“Aaaand?...” 

There was a strong, expectant interval. Nero did _ not _ want to do this. This was a stupid situation Dante got himself into and Nero did _ not _ owe his uncle anything. On top of that, how was he supposed to look anything but suspicious breaking into the office? Even with permission, if anybody saw he could easily get in trouble. 

“This is a bad idea and I hate it,” Nero replied.

“Yeah. And?” Dante pushed.

Nero stared up at the water-stained ceiling, counted backward from five, then let out a deep sigh. 

“What’s the address to the station?”

***

Nero hated every step he took in the direction of Dante’s office. He hated that he now owed Nico a favor for covering for him and finding someone to take over his shift. He hated how excessively amused she was at this whole situation. He hated lugging around the brown paper bag she had given him; the weight of its contents threatened to tear the flimsy handles away from the body.

Inside the bag was a bunch of shit Nico thought he would need: A handful of bobby pins, for trying to pick the lock. A hefty red brick, in case he sucked at lockpicking and needed to bash in a window. A bus schedule, for getting to the police station. And finally a business card to some bail bondsman, just in case this all went tits up.

When he got to Dante’s front door, Nero glanced around a few times for witnesses. In hindsight, that looked more suspicious than anything. He dropped the bag to the ground, then got down on one knee to reach in and grab the pins. 

He wasn’t sure he could pick the lock at all. Nico had tried to give him a crash-course on the bathroom door at work. (He didn’t ask why she knew how to pick locks - it seemed a perfectly reasonable Nico-skill at the time.) The lock on Dante’s door looked a little more complex than that. Nero felt some anxiety roll in his stomach. 

He bent and adjusted two pins the way Nico had told him to, making one into a single long line with a hook on the end and forcing another into an L-shape, what she’d called a “wrench”. He slipped the hook in first, followed by the wrench, and set to work. Probing around, he tried to find the first pin. Tapping and wiggling the hook around, applying pressure and then lessening that when the key plug didn’t respond. He really did his best to recall his impromptu lesson. 

Minutes passed and Nero wasn’t sure if he was making any progress at all. His hands started to ache and feel sweaty. He felt more annoyed and nervous the longer he worked. Maybe it was time for Plan B? (As in _ brick _.)

Suddenly the entire lock gave in and Nero was able to turn the wrench fully. It was practically a miracle. He let out a relieved breath, then quickly grabbed his bag and went inside.

Dante’s office looked much the same as it did the first time Nero entered. Some of the liquor bottles had been moved around, but the place was still a disorganized disaster. Flipping on the lights didn’t make it look any better. 

Nero dropped his bag on the floor and walked over to the desk. Bottom drawer, left side. He pulled it open, but he didn’t see a lockbox. Instead he saw a black binder. Thinking maybe the box was underneath, he pulled out the binder and set it heavily on the desk. His hunch was correct; sitting at the bottom of the drawer was a small, black, metal lockbox. Nero pulled it out and gave it a shake, hearing Dante’s cash rustle around inside. 

It was tempting. Nero mused about practicing his new lockpicking skill some more. Maybe take his own fee out for this service he was providing? He chuckled a little to himself, then sat the box on the desk. 

He looked back at the thick binder. Initially he intended to just put it back where it belonged and leave. But it was a temptation, too, and one not even locked away. Nero chewed his bottom lip as he considered it. Then he caved, reached over, and flipped it open.

The first thing that caught his eye was the badge slotted into the inside cover pocket. He pulled it out for a closer look. It was made of a shiny brass with the city police department crest inlaid with some blue lacquer-like material. There was a number engraved near the bottom and underneath that “Ward 3 - Homicide Unit”. Under that was Dante’s name.

Nero rubbed his thumb over it, feeling all the carefully cast lines and grooves. He knew Dante had been a cop before. He’d never paid enough attention to Vergil’s stories to pick up much beyond the fact that Dante had gotten thrown off the force. 

Sliding the badge back into the binder pocket, Nero glanced to the first page that sat inside a plastic three-hole laminate page protector. It contained a poster with a black-and-white photo of a woman on it and red capital letters across the top: MISSING. Under the photo were various biographical details about the woman, and then a paragraph about her disappearance. She’d apparently gone missing sometime between going to bed in the evening and the next morning. After that were some contact details for the police and a date from nearly twenty years previous. 

Flipping the page, there was another copy of the poster on the back of the first. This time in color and this time having some hand-written notes and circles around various parts of information. It looked like the notes indicated some changes of details, including the time the woman had disappeared.

In the laminate page opposite that was a newspaper clipping. The headline read “PD Captain’s Wife Missing” and the story that followed detailed much of what was contained on the posters. There were some parts of the story circled, including names. The next ten or so pages were all news stories, each one talking about the disappearance. Nero noticed where Dante had written dates at the top, and how long time passed between each entry. The stories appeared to get shorter, too, as time went on. 

The last one was dated to around seven years ago. It only took up a small square.

“Captain’s wife ran off with lover,” Nero read the headline out loud, “Case closed.”

There was an X drawn through most of the headline with red ink, leaving only the _ Captain’s Wife _ part untouched. Over the X, Dante had written _ Murdered _.

Nero swallowed at the tension that suddenly balled up in his throat. He’d known he was looking into something he wasn’t meant to see. But this was beyond what he’d expected. Clearly this was something important to Dante; a case he’d held onto for a reason.

Unable to let himself stop there, Nero continued flipping through the pages and skimming. The next section looked like some internal department memos and forms. A lot of professional blather and bureaucratic bullshit with Dante’s scribbled notes tending to agree with Nero’s present sentiments. They weren’t as protected as the previous pages, as they were bare papers that had been punched and slotted in. Some had been stamped with words like “denied” or “rejected”. They all seemed to be records requests Dante had personally filed. 

Those gave way to slips of yellow carbon-copy paper. Behavior citations, one after another. On some Dante had written long objections, on others he’d doodled obscene little cartoons. But all of them had the same name circled. It was the same name that had been circled on the newspaper clippings: Urizen. Captain of Ward 3. 

“Interesting, isn’t it?” A voice made Nero’s breath catch and his whole body jump.

Heart pounding, Nero looked up and saw a stranger standing on the other side of the desk. A lanky guy with cropped black hair, dressed in black and covered in dark scrawling tattoos. His bottom lip had an angry red cut running down its right side and there was a purplish bruise on his left cheek. He smiled at Nero with half-lidded eyes, a look that made Nero’s skin crawl with anxiety. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” Nero demanded.

“Nobody important.” The other man replied as he stepped closer to the desk.

“How’d you get in here?!” Nero raised his voice again.

“Same way you tried to,” The stranger gave a soft sort of laugh. “You’re welcome, by the way. Your bumbling would have made trouble for us both.”

Nero tried to ignore the punch to his ego after realizing he hadn’t actually succeeded in unlocking the door himself. The guy must have been hiding inside before Nero had arrived. 

“You better get the hell outta here.” Nero grit his teeth.

“Or you’ll call the police?” The man teased.

Then he lifted the cane he was carrying and used the end of it to push the antique phone on the desk closer toward Nero.

“Go on,” He dared lowly. 

Nero hesitated, fists clenching at his sides. There was something _ weird _ going on here. His mind was still tumbling from what he’d read in that file. He wasn’t sure what to think or do.

“How ‘bout I just kick your ass instead?” Nero said, seething. 

The stranger huffed out a soft laugh and touched the side of his own face, his thin fingers brushing over the bruise on his cheek. He looked to Nero again.

“I would kill you.” 

Nero didn’t want to believe that. The other man looked like he could snap in half from a rogue wind, let alone take anyone in a fight. But he also spoke so definitively, with so much weight that it was enough to make Nero second-guess that assumption. 

“What do you want?” Asked Nero tensely. 

“Dante, of course.” The man reached and ran his fingers over the binder on the desk, absently looking over the open pages and notes. “I’d thought to wait for him, but you appeared instead. I assume he’s still indisposed?”

Nero seized the binder, yanked it away, and slammed the cover closed. The stranger regarded him with a dark sort of amusement. Then he took a step back from the desk.

“Don’t worry, you’ve already thrown a wrench into my plans, Nero.” The stranger smiled again when Nero glared at him for using his name. “I’ll be leaving, for now.”

Nero watched him turn and begin walking toward the door. He should have just let the guy go. He couldn’t resist.

“You know my name. So what do I call you?” Nero asked, not really expecting an answer but trying regardless.

The man paused with one hand on the door handle and the other supported on his cane. 

“Call me V,” He said.

“That’s not a real name!” Nero pointed out.

V pulled on the door knob and then left, letting the door shut solidly behind him. Nero watched his figure move past the front window and then disappear. A great breath exhaled from within him, along with all the stress that had been coiling in his chest. He realized he’d been holding Dante’s file close to his body. Nero looked down at it, a feeling of confusion and worry swirling inside him.

“The hell kinda trouble you get yourself into?”

***

Route A-7. 45 minutes. The bus took that long to get to the station from the corner stop near Dante’s office. At least it was only one line, no changes. A quiet mid-morning ride that Nero would have otherwise appreciated if he weren’t so preoccupied. 

In the end he’d decided against calling the police. Dante would know what to do better than he did. Nero pulled his zip-up hoodie a little tighter and kept the hood up on his head. He made sure to hold the brown paper bag securely in his lap. The brick had been replaced with Dante’s lockbox. He’d left the brick on the office floor. 

Nero glanced around occasionally. Paranoid. That V guy obviously knew him, or at least his name. The way he spoke half-condescending and half-flirtatious - as if there was a familiarity between them - creeped Nero out. Even in the golden autumn sunlight Nero found himself looking for shadows.

Finding the station was easy once he stepped off the bus. The building was large and clearly marked. Nero hurriedly shuffled inside, remembering to put his hood down lest he look any more suspicious that day. He approached the reception desk and told the officer sitting there the reason for his visit. The older gentleman nodded and told him to go through the processing line.

Processing wasn’t unlike going through airport security: place your belongings on the conveyor belt and step through the metal detector, then get a second swipe with a magnetic wand for good measure. The lockbox in his bag got a second glance as it went through the x-ray scanner. Nero felt a small pit of anxiety then and wondered if it was going to be a problem. Thankfully the technician only made a passing comment about how unusual it was and Nero _ agreed _ then collected his bag.

He was escorted into a waiting room. There were some people sitting around on benches, but Nero’s attention was drawn to the back. Dante was standing with his back against the wall and a professionally-dressed woman to his left. The woman was talking into a pay phone. To Dante’s right was a service window with a couple of uniformed technicians seated behind it.

Nero walked over briskly. He met Dante’s grin with a scowl.

“Took you long enough, kid.” Dante said as he snatched the bag out of Nero’s hands.

Dante took out his box, then shoved the bag back at Nero.

“We gotta talk,” Nero snapped, hooking the paper handles around one wrist.. 

“Yeah, yeah. Later.” Dante brushed him off, busy fumbling around with his key ring and trying to get the lockbox open.

The ruckus drew some attention from the other parties in the room. Frustrated, Nero moved to try and put himself between line of sight of Dante and the box. 

“Someone broke into your place,” Nero continued, “Someone _ who wasn’t me _.”

“What?” Dante squinted at him.

“Wait, did you say someone else broke in?” The woman who was on the pay phone suddenly hung up and then huddled next to Nero and Dante. 

“Who the hell are you?” Nero asked her.

“His attorney,” She nodded her head at Dante. “Who was it? Did you see?”

“Some guy. Called himself V.” Nero shrugged.

“You talked to him?” The lawyer questioned him, a fierceness in her voice that made Nero partly irritated and partly nervous. 

“He was there before I was. Acted like he knew Dante. Said he’d been waiting for him.” 

Dante stopped fiddling with the lockbox then. He looked directly to Nero. 

“What’d he look like?” Dante asked.

“Um, kinda skinny? Pale. Black hair. He had all these weird tattoos.” Nero tried to recall the details.

“Walked with a cane?” Dante offered.

“Yeah…” Nero confirmed, surprised.

“Fucking stalker.” Dante grumbled, then finally popped the box open.

“Stalker?!” Nero and the lawyer exclaimed in tandem.

“You have a stalker?!” The woman addressed Dante through her teeth. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was _ gonna _ !” Dante emphasized back at her. “Not. In. _ Here. _”

Dante shuffled over to the reception window and began chatting with the person inside. The lawyer rubbed her fingers in small circles at her temples, her eyes squeezed shut. Nero could relate. He felt a bit sympathetic toward her. She clearly had to put up with Dante’s Dante-ness a lot.

With his “business” at the station concluded, Dante seemed in a rush to leave. Nero watched him gather his belongings, stuffing some sort of gun holster inside his coat and then put that _ stupid cowboy hat _ on his head. Then he made a direct line for the exit. Nero and the lawyer followed close behind.

“Lady,” Dante called over his shoulder at the woman, “You bring your car?”

“Yeah,” she replied catching up to Dante’s pace even in her heels, “Over here.” 

They rounded the side of the station, into a parking lot. Lady - definitely not a real name, Nero thought - lead them to a clean silver colored sedan. She unlocked the doors and they all climbed in, with Dante taking the passenger side and Nero in the backseat. Dante told her to drive somewhere and Lady started the car and pulled out. When they were a couple blocks away, Dante finally started explaining.

“Okay, yeah, I have a stalker. I didn’t wanna bring it up in the station, ‘cause I think he might be working for, y’know-”

“Urizen?” Nero blurted.

“How’d you- You read my file.” Dante turned in his seat to look back at Nero. “Didn’t Vergil teach you not to go snooping around in other people’s stuff?”

“Not really. Besides, isn’t that a little hypocritical coming from _ you _?” Nero bit back, but then softened his tone. “Look, I’m sorry okay? But yeah, I looked. That V guy sounded like he knew what was in it, too.”

Dante let out a frustrated huff and turned back to sit properly in his seat. “Not surprised… You know, I think he started that fire, too.”

“Really?” Lady asked, “How sure are you?”

“I mean, he didn’t really try to hide from me. He’s been kiting me a while, I think.”

“You think he started it to get you blamed?” Lady questioned more, her voice losing its edge. 

“Probably. Maybe? I don’t know.” Dante shook his head.

Nero thought Dante sounded tired. Dante always seemed to have some degree of exhaustion whenever Nero had seen him, but this time it was far more pronounced. He wanted to ask more questions, too. Wanted to know more about this fire they were talking about, and about that missing woman and Urizen. 

He wanted to help, even though he knew he couldn’t really do more than a lawyer or a detective could.

“So, what are you gonna do now?” Nero asked.

“Go home and have a drink.” Dante replied with a smile. “What else?”

“Sleep, maybe?” Nero deadpanned. “Anyway, isn’t that kind of a terrible idea? V knows where you live. He was just in there today.”

“He’s right,” Lady spoke up, “Until we figure out who this stalker is and what he wants it’s a bad idea for you to be alone.”

“Twiggy guy like that? I could take him.” Dante said, “He’s not gonna be a problem.”

“He already _ is _ a problem,” Lady chastised Dante, “Remember what I told you about listening to others and letting us help?”

“Look at it this way,” Dante argued back, “He’s already been following me _ everywhere _. If I go somewhere else, chances are he’s gonna be there too. At least if he shows up at my place I got home-field advantage.”

“Then at least get someone to stay with you. Me or Trish or even Nero?” Lady offered.

“Why am I the last choi-” Nero piped up but Dante interjected.

“No, absolutely not,” Said Dante, “Trish is already getting herself in enough trouble and I need _ you _-” He looked to Lady, “-to start looking into whoever this “V” is.”

“What about me?” Nero asked.

“You’ll just get in the way.” Dante replied.

“Hey!” Nero shouted, feeling anger rapidly replacing whatever pity he’d felt for Dante’s situation.

“That was kinda mean,” Lady told Dante, though there was an amused tilt to her voice.

“But not inaccurate!” Dante shook a finger in the air authoritatively.

Nero crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the back of Dante’s head and his _ stupid hat. _ He felt tremendously discontented. Approximately one hundred reasons why he thought Dante was wrong swirled in his head. If he wanted, Nero could pluck any of them out as an example why he wouldn’t get in the way; why he could help Dante, too.

In the end, Nero stayed quiet. He listened while Dante and Lady compared notes and ideas, making plans and contingencies that he was wholly not included in. It made him feel small. Inconsequential. He hated that feeling inking up his brain.

Lady dropped Dante off in front of his office first. They shared one more exchange and then a goodbye. Dante rapped his knuckles against the window closest to Nero. Nero shifted his gaze to look at his uncle, not changing his decidedly pissed off demeanor. Dante waved at him, wriggling his fingers and smiling like one would smile at a child. Nero flipped him off.

The car started pulling away, leaving Dante laughing on the curb.

“Asshole,” Nero mumbled.

“He sure is,” Lady agreed as she drove, “Where to?”

“‘Round the corner there’s a pizza place, just drop me off there.” Replied Nero, thinking about picking up his paycheck and then spending the rest of his impromptu day off watching daytime TV.

“You know,” Lady mused out loud on purpose, “Dante never told me about you, until today.”

Nero just shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to go into his barely-there history with Dante. Especially not when he was pissed at the guy. 

“I guess he didn’t have any reason to,” Lady continued, “Still, it was kind of surprising that he reached out to you like that. And that you went out of your way so much for him.”

“Yeah, so what?” Nero looked over at her as they pulled in front of his work. 

“It’s just refreshing, that’s all.” Lady said as she put the car in park, then looked back at Nero through the rear-view mirror. “He’s not an easy person to get along with.”

Nero snorted at that. “No kidding.”

“You still worried about him?”

Nero hesitated. Because yeah, he was. He didn’t like the idea of Dante being alone with everything that was going on. But he was also angry and unsettled for being shut down. All these feelings boiled inside of him and he wasn’t sure what to do about them. He settled for simply nodding in response.

“Good!” Lady smiled.

Then she reached over into the passenger seat. Nero couldn’t see what she was digging around for, but he waited with minor curiosity. She pulled her arm back, revealing a small, black, metal lockbox dangling by a handle in her hand. 

“I think he might miss this.” She said, bending her arm back to hold the box out to Nero.

Nero smirked, then took it in his hands. “What if I just keep it?”

“That’s your choice,” Lady shrugged with her palms up in the air. “Sometimes he needs to be taught a lesson in appreciation.”

Nero flipped the box over in his hands a couple of times, then shoved it into the paper bag at his feet. He opened the car door and slid outside, dragging the bag with him. After swinging the door shut, he waved at Lady. She waved back, then started pulling away. 

Nero turned to look at the front door of the pizza place. Then he looked beyond it, to the row of buildings about a block away and around the corner. He made a resolution then; to get the hell in Dante’s way.


	6. Chapter 6

Keeping the lights off was as much an aesthetic choice as it was cost-saving. Dante liked the way the shadows fell through the blinds. How they fell in evenly-spaced bars against his floor and desk and walls, curving with the surfaces, unbreaking. It made him feel neat as he sat back with his boots on the desk, a glass of whiskey in hand. Should his stalker show up, Dante would at least look cool, right?

Okay, so maybe it was also because he’d forgotten his lockbox  _ somewhere  _ and he had varying degrees of certainty where it was and if he’d ever get it back. Bills were gonna need paying soon and his usual wells of revenue were dry. Might as well start saving on the utilities, just in case.

Between trying to clear his name and staying on his toes for  _ shenanigans _ , what he really needed was a nice, normal, decently-paying case to walk through his door. 

What he got was Nero.

“Surprised?” His nephew asked cockily after he’d practically thrown himself into the office.

“I was hoping for something taller with a bigger chest,” Dante commented, sipping his drink.

Nero kicked the door closed behind him. He crossed the floor, pulling off the backpack he carried, then set that on top of the desk. Looking over the pack, Dante noted how worn-out the blue and black material looked. It was likely something leftover from Nero’s days in school, judging from the permanent marker graffiti and little cartoon character tchotchkes dangling from the zipper sliders. Cute. Kinda rebellious and innocent at once, just like Nero himself.

Dante glanced up at Nero again. He didn’t bother moving, going as far as keeping the rim of his glass pressed to his bottom lip.

“What’re you doing here?” Dante asked tiredly.

“Getting in the way,” Nero smirked.

Probably had that line loaded the whole way there, Dante thought. He chuckled a little and sipped a little more.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away, squirt?” Dante taunted and felt a small tickle seeing the way Nero bristled from the insult. “You’re just gonna get me  _ and  _ you in more trouble.”

“Thing is, I’m not.” Nero continued stubbornly, “You only  _ think _ that, but you don’t really know.”

“And you only  _ think _ you’re helping.” Dante shook his head. 

It wasn’t like he was telling Nero to stay out of it just for the sake of ruffling the kid’s feathers. His line of work was dangerous even when the cases were normal. Dante was sure he was going head-to-head with some conniving and ruthless characters; people who knew how to ruin a life in the way death would look like a mercy. He didn’t want to get Nero involved in all that. No more than he already was, anyway.

He’d underestimated Nero’s tenacity and taste for minor deviance before. Dante wondered if his brother had made the same mistake, too. 

Nero huffed and dug around in his backpack. The thing looked like it was packed full. Like Nero had spent the last couple of hours since they parted shoving whatever he thought he’d need in it. He really thought Dante would just let him stay if he was a big enough brat about it.

“Here,” Nero finally yanked out his prize: the lockbox. “How’s that for helping?”

“Hey, thanks!” Dante swiped it out of Nero’s hand. “Now leave.”

“No way,” Nero said, standing with his hands shoved in the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. 

The slotted light and shadows fell across his face and body as he stared down at Dante. One shaft of light curved over Nero’s cheek and across his eyes, highlighting the blues of his irises. A determined and petulant sort of stare. It was almost nostalgic. 

Dante shoved the box back in its designated drawer. Then he finished off his drink. It had stopped making him feel warm or drunk, anyway. He set the glass down with finality, then stood up so he could meet Nero more or less eye-to-eye.

“Get. Out. Nero.” He warned, hoping his nephew would listen but knowing he probably wouldn’t.

“ _ No. _ ” Nero growled back.

“Alright then.” Dante sighed as he rounded his desk to where Nero stood.

Dante seized the hood of Nero’s jacket with his right hand. Wadding it up in his fist, he yanked on it as he stomped towards the door. He managed to drag Nero, stumbling, about halfway across the room. Then Nero began twisting and turning, growling and grunting, leaning back to get traction on his feet. 

Nero swung at Dante with his left fist and caught him in the cheek. Pain split hotly through Dante’s skin, but it wasn’t enough to make him let go of Nero’s jacket. Then Nero twisted again and managed to pull himself out of the hoodie completely, leaving Dante holding it. Dropping it to the floor, Dante reached for Nero again. This time he caught the younger man by the upper right arm. He twisted it behind Nero’s body, making his nephew shout and then snarl.

“Should’ve just listened, kid.” Dante seethed, finding it harder than expected to keep Nero’s struggling in check. 

“Yeah, so should you!” Nero yelled as he leaned forward.

Then Nero wrenched his head backward, slamming it into Dante’s skull and causing a blistering pain to erupt around his eye socket. It was enough to shake Dante’s hold. Nero pulled out of it, then whirled around to wrap an arm around Dante’s neck. Strong enough to get Dante in a chokehold, Nero held tight even as Dante tried to shove and kick him away.

“Give it up, asshole!” Nero shouted.

Dante wouldn’t. He managed to turn around enough in the circle of Nero’s arm so that he could get his own arms around Nero’s waist. Pushing forward with his shoulder in Nero’s sternum, Dante managed to make Nero stumble backward. So much so that Nero completely lost his footing and fell. 

The two men hit the floor hard, with Dante crashing on top of Nero. A loud noise echoed against the walls and Nero let out an agonized groan. His arm left Dante’s neck. Dante got up on his hands and knees over Nero. Fueled with adrenaline, he pulled back his right hand into a fist, ready to throw it at his nephew. 

Nero had his hands clutching the back of his head. He curled up on his side and his eyes screwed shut. Near his head laid a clay brick. Where the hell did that come from? Nero must have hit it when they fell. Feeling his enraged pulse drop a little, Dante lowered his fist.

Breathless, Nero opened his eyes and glared up at Dante. One hand still grabbed at the back of his head, but the other swung weakly at Dante’s face. Dante ducked away from it easily.

“Let me stay,” Nero growled out and swung again, this time hitting Dante in the same cheek as before but without the same ferocity. “Just let me fucking stay with you, you asshole!”

Dante grabbed Nero’s wrist before he could take another swing. Nero made a small attempt to wrench away, but he appeared weaker and his hand shook a little. Looking closer, Dante noticed the blood smeared over Nero’s fingers and palm. When he glanced down he could see some blood matting down the back of Nero’s hair and dribbling over the other hand he held there.

“Shit,” Dante cursed, letting go of Nero’s wrist and crawling off him. “C’mon, sit up. Sit up.”

Anger shifting into concern, Dante gently tried to coax Nero into sitting. The younger man resisted at first but gave in quickly. Carefully sliding a hand under Nero’s shoulders, Dante eased his nephew up. 

“Ugh,” Nero groaned and rested both of his elbows on his knees once he was sitting upright.

It would be a lie to say Dante wasn’t still annoyed. If Nero had listened, this wouldn’t have happened. Dante wanted to keep the kid out of trouble, and it ended up like this. 

“How do you feel?” Dante asked as he slid around behind Nero.

“It fucking  _ hurts _ , what else?” Nero grumbled, reaching his hands back again towards his wound.

Dante smacked Nero’s hands away. “Lemme look at it.”

Nero groaned again and his body wobbled a little. Dante placed one hand on Nero’s left arm to steady him. With his other hand, he tried to part the short hair on the back of Nero’s head and look through the wet and clumping blood. Nero flinched and jerked his head away from Dante’s touch.

“Watch it!” Nero hissed inwardly.

“Hey, I’m just trying to figure out if you need to go to the hospital or not!” Dante snapped back. “Stop being a brat. This’s your fault anyway.”

“ _ My _ fault?!” Nero yelled, then made another sickened sort of noise and held his forehead in his hands. “Whatever.”

“Yeah  _ your _ fault,” Said Dante as he tried getting a look at the wound again. “I can’t see shit. We gotta get you cleaned up.”

Dante got to his feet and, seeing that Nero wasn’t likely to get up on his own, offered a hand to help. Nero was still scowling, but he took it. Pulling Nero up took a little more strength than Dante thought it would. The younger man swayed on his feet and kept a tight hold on Dante’s hand to steady himself. Nero was obviously dizzy and there existed a genuine worry that he might faint.

With that in mind, Dante hooked his arm around Nero’s to give him more balance. Then he slowly guided Nero toward the staircase. Nero reached out to hold the handrail but didn’t let go of Dante.

The trek upstairs was quiet and admittedly awkward. Nero’s breaths were loud, at times irregular. To Dante, it sounded like Nero was working against the pain; as if every step jostled enough to hurt. He wondered if Nero had hurt anything else in their fight. 

Dante ached all over, but it was hard to tell which of those pains were new. He wasn’t as scrappy as he used to be when he was a rookie. Nor as able to take a real all-out brawl, like when he wrestled with his brother in the backyard. In a weird and sort of guilty way, Dante had enjoyed fighting with Nero. It had been a while since something had gotten him that fired up.

“Y’know what? You fight like your dad.” Dante said as they reached the landing.

“Shut up,” Nero grumbled.

“It’s a compliment!” Dante laughed, guiding Nero across the loft towards the bathroom. “Vergil used to kick my ass, too.”

“You fight dirty,” Nero complained, but Dante could see a hint of a smile on Nero’s lips.

“Nothing wrong with using whatever you got to win,” Dante replied.

“You didn’t win,” Said Nero in a huff.

“I’m pretty sure I won,” Dante beamed a little more.

“Actually, I think that stupid brick won.”

Dante laughed.

It was a ghost of a conversation. Something so close to things Dante and Vergil had said - when they still could talk to each other. It tugged at something that Dante didn’t like, so he ignored it and turned his attention back to Nero.

After flipping on the light, Dante moved Nero over to the bathtub. He pulled back the shower curtain. Then he helped Nero get to his knees next to the tub. Dante pulled down the handheld showerhead and turned the water on with his free hand. Waiting for the temperature to adjust, he carefully stepped behind Nero with his feet on either side of the younger man’s body.

Nero leaned forward without prompting, holding his head over the tub. Cautiously, Dante let the water run over the back of Nero’s head. His nephew flinched but didn’t move away from it. The blood started to wash away; a rusty orange river flowing across white acrylic and swirling down the drain. 

Once Dante was satisfied with the rinse he shut off the spray. He set the showerhead down and let it dangle by its hose in the tub.

“I gotta have a look now,” Dante informed Nero, “So just deal with it, okay?” 

“Alright,” Nero grunted in reply.

Dante slowly took Nero’s head into his hands, brushing his thumbs across the back of his scalp. Nero’s shoulders tensed but he stayed otherwise still. Parting his hair, Dante could finally see the source: A gash about half an inch in length, horizontal across the base of Nero’s skull. It didn’t appear very deep or wide, though it still oozed blood. He poked and prodded a bit with his thumbs, not feeling any bone give or something dire like that. 

“Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches or anything,” Dante concluded, “But we should get you bandaged up. Stay there.”

Nero made a noncommittal noise but did as asked and stayed put. Dante stepped back and turned towards his bathroom sink. Opening the medicine cabinet, he grabbed some first aid supplies. Little things he kept around for rough spells, like gauze and latex tape and pain killers. He laid out the things he needed on the sink counter, then reached to grab a clean towel off the rack on the wall.

Turning back to Nero, Dante first used the towel to dab away some of the water in Nero’s hair. Then he went to work cleaning and bandaging up the cut. Nero made some bitchy little complaints when the antiseptic stung, but for the most part he took it and let Dante work. After a few moments, Dante had a pad of gauze fixed across the wound, then wrapped a couple of lengths around Nero’s head to hold it in place.

“Well it’s not professional or anything, but should keep your brain inside your head,” Dante teased, “How’s it feel now?”

“Still hurts like hell,” Nero shrugged and ran a hand over his forehead, “I feel kinda dizzy.”

“Yeah? You probably got a concussion,” Dante said, “What’re you supposed to do about those again? Not sleep for two hours or something?”

“Hell if I know,” Nero replied, “It’s not like I got a habit of busting my head open.”

“Don’t go taking any naps, anyway. Think you can stand?”

Nero placed his hands on the edge of the tub and pushed himself up. He got to his feet, but then paused, wobbling. Dante considered offering more help, but Nero held a hand up to halt him as if he sensed the concern. After another moment, Nero straightened up and stood fully. 

Dante watched as Nero immediately went to the sink and started fussing with the mirror on the medicine cabinet. He inspected the bandaging with a frustrated scowl. Then he started picking at his t-shirt, finally noticing it was damp with water as well as blood on the back. He paused, considering, then decided to peel the shirt off completely. 

He was more muscular than he looked under his usual clothes. Dante had figured that much, though, given how strong he hit. Nero was still lean though, in that enviable youthful way. His skin was smooth but a scattering of red and purple splotches had started to blemish his arms and torso. Dante felt at once apologetic, but also a little proud, knowing those bruises were his fault.

Picking up the bottle of ibuprofen he’d placed on the counter, Dante handed it to Nero in exchange for taking the younger man’s shirt.

“Here, get some water in the kitchen. I’ll chuck this in the laundry.” Dante instructed as he stepped around Nero.

“Thanks…” Nero said as Dante exited the bathroom.

The upstairs loft wasn’t a fancy thing. He had his bed pushed up against the wall closest to the staircase. Clockwise from the bed was a living area with a couch and TV, then the bathroom in the corner followed by a small kitchen, finally rounding up with a washer, dryer, then a dining table that had long ago became over-cluttered with mail and other junk. He usually ate in front of the TV or downstairs anyway. The center of the loft was mostly bare save for some random rugs, miscellaneous clutter, and discarded clothes. 

Dante swooped through the center to grab up some of his own laundry. Why wash just one shirt, right? He didn’t care enough to sort, though. He just gathered up enough articles for a decent load and then shoved it all into the washer.

Nero emerged from the bathroom and shuffled into the kitchen. He opened and shut some cabinets loudly until he found where the drinking glasses were. Dante watched his nephew diligently take the pills and wash them down with water. 

“You cold?” Dante asked, knowing he kept the building thermostat pretty low.

“A little. I brought clothes.” Nero gestured at the staircase. “In my pack.”

There was an unsaid question there, Dante felt. Like Nero wanted confirmation that he could stay. Dante still wanted to make him leave. Not because he was still angry, but because the danger still loomed. But Nero seemed determined to involve himself. Dante mentally kicked himself for dragging him into it in the first place.

“There was something V said,” Nero said as he set his empty glass in the sink, “Something like I’d thrown a wrench in his plans? Like me being here ruined whatever he was planning to do.”

“So, you think he’ll leave me alone if you’re here?” Dante asked.

“Yeah, maybe.” Nero scratched a little at his temple, just under the edge of the bandage. “I dunno. There’s a lot of shit going on here that I don’t get, but I know trouble when I see it.”

Dante had to laugh at that. “Yeah, kid, me too.”

Nero smiled then, and Dante felt his resolve falter. Charming little bastard. 

“Alright, fine,” Dante gave in, “We’ll have a good old-fashioned sleepover. Hope you’re better than your dad at braiding hair.”

***

Dante’s boxy black television only received local over-the-air channels, and only if the antenna was positioned  _ just so _ . He used to get cable when the guy in the next building paid for it; when Dante just  _ happened _ to have a splitter cord that just  _ happened  _ to make its way into his own building. That guy had, sadly, since vacated. 

So, the entertainment options in the loft weren’t stellar. Weekday daytime options were usually between the one channel with all the gossip shows, another that ran telenovelas, and then the station with all the crusty B-movies. Dante chose the movies (because his favorite soap opera was on hiatus). Surprisingly, Nero didn’t really complain about it, at least not until the credits were rolling. 

“So, he goes back in time to keep this chick from getting the ax,” Nero said around a mouthful of microwave popcorn. “‘Cause he wants to see what it’ll do to the present?”

“No, he goes inside her  _ head _ because she’s psychically stuck in the past,” Dante clarified as he helped himself to the bowl in Nero’s lap.

“Okay, but if he stops her past self from dying, that would keep her future selves from being born? Which would make it so he never met the chick in his office, but that…uh...” Nero trailed off, squinting as he tried to keep track of the plot in his head. 

Dante laughed a little. “Don’t think about it too hard. You’ll make your head split again.”

“But why was  _ Satan _ even there?!” Nero exclaimed, gesturing at the TV even though the movie had stopped and commercials were rolling. “They just, like, plopped him in for no reason!”

“Does the devil really need a reason to be in anything?” Dante said finishing off his handful of popcorn.

“Stupid, shitty movie,” Nero said with a laugh.

Dante watched his nephew stretch out his arms and legs, yawning. It was still light outside; even with the venetian blinds drawn the sun poked its way inside his shadowy loft. It wasn’t as dramatic-looking as downstairs, but it did just as well to hide the chaos. Plus it was good for watching movies; they’d seen two so far.

“It’s been over two hours,” Dante pointed out, “I think it’s safe for you to sleep now, if you want.”

“I think you’re the one that needs it more than me,” Nero gave Dante a dry sort of look, “You look like shit.”

“Hey thanks, I really try,” Dante snarked back.

Nero narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Dante. Go to bed. I’m usually up for work now, anyway.”

“And leave you alone to snoop through all my stuff?” Dante said, accusing but not exactly malicious.

“Yeah, we’ll call it your bad influence on me,” Nero smirked. “Now go lay the fuck down. I’ll keep watch.”

Dante really didn’t want to. Yes, he was tired. Exhausted, really. He ached all over and the alcohol he’d been drinking really wasn’t smoothing things over like it usually did. He had napped - sort of - in the station. Nero probably wouldn’t accept that. 

There was also a good chance Nero would start digging around when he got bored, something Dante didn’t appreciate even though it was hypocritical. But Nero had also already found the one thing in the whole place that Dante felt actually protective of. The cat wasn’t entirely out of the bag, but Nero had seen enough to pet it.

Dante rubbed his fingers over his straining eyes. “Okay. Only for a bit though. Then it’ll be your turn, got it?”

Nero waved a hand at him, his attention already turning back to the next movie that began to play. Letting out a sighing groan, Dante pulled himself off the sofa. He made the short trek over to the bed. Pausing, he stripped off his jacket, then bent over to unlace and shuck off his boots. 

Suddenly he felt so heavy, like the temptation of going to bed was already making his body shut off. Maybe Nero was right; Dante did _feel_ like shit. He all but flopped on top of the mattress, not bothering to adjust his blankets or pillows. Closing his eyes, Dante let himself drift off listening to the sound of the movie on his TV.


	7. Chapter 7

Waking up in an unfamiliar environment is usually a good reason to panic. Nero could be forgiven, he thought, for being so startled that he nearly fell off the sofa. The way he jerked awake and sat up so fast made his head ache and spin. He managed to catch himself before he fell completely to the floor, but he probably looked ridiculous doing it.

The previous night rushed back to him. Of course, that was assisted by the enormous pain stretching across the back of his skull. It made him feel slightly nauseous.

He remembered he was supposed to stay awake. He was supposed to be keeping watch over Dante. Judging from the blanket that had mysteriously made its way from the bed to him, he must have passed out before Dante woke up. Dante had probably covered him up. Nero cursed.

The loft was dark. The TV was off. Everything was still.

Squinting toward the kitchen, the glowing digital numbers on the stove read 3:46. Nero threw the blanket off and stood. His head throbbed again. His bandaging was all loose and uneven, having unraveled partly as he slept. Pulling it all off, he dropped it into the kitchen trash can while he walked past it.

Nero flipped the light switch on the wall and the overhead kitchen lights popped on. They were brighter than he expected, and he had to blink against the intrusion to his eyes. Once he adjusted, he went for the bottle of pills he’d left on the counter. He took two and downed them with a glass of water. Then he turned to face the expanse of the loft again.

He looked toward the bed.

It was empty.

Damn it.

“Dante!” Nero shouted. 

Getting no reply, Nero crossed the loft to the staircase. He peered down. No lights were on, but he could hear some sound. Some music, playing soft and low. 

“Dante?” Nero called out, “Hey! You up?”

No response. Great, things were going from sitcom to slasher vibes real quick, Nero thought. Taking in a deep breath, he descended the stairs slowly.

The first thing of note was the front door. Specifically the way it stood half-open. It was impossible to tell if it hadn’t been closed because it was forgotten, or if there wasn’t time in the rush to leave. Second thing was the jukebox. It was the source of the soft, airy song that played ominously on the backdrop. It was also the only source of light in the room, its hues dancing across the furniture and floor playfully unbidden by the sinister feeling Nero felt swelling around him.

“Shit,” Nero cursed again and hurried over to the door to slam it closed.

The lamp on Dante’s desk clicked on. Nero whirled around to look. Sitting behind Dante’s desk was V, his left hand still holding the pull chain for the lamp, his right resting on his cane.

“You make it too easy,” V’s voice nearly hummed.

Enraged, Nero rushed over, rounding the desk. He seized the leather lapel of V’s open top and yanked the smaller man up out of the chair. Growling just inches from V’s face, Nero could see no fear in the other’s eyes.

“Where’s Dante?!” Nero shouted.

“I was going to ask you the same, actually.” V tilted his head a little to the side. 

“Bullshit!” Nero spat, “Where is he?!”

“I’m not a broken record, Nero. I will not repeat myself.” 

Nero seethed, inward and out. He knew V had something to do with this. He had to. It was the only thing that made sense, and Nero clung to that desperately.

“Don’t fuck around with me, jackass.” Nero snarled then yanked V over and threw him on top of Dante’s desk.

He pinned V down with one hand still twisted tightly in V’s top, the other gripping V’s throat. He dug his fingers deep against that fragile cylinder, making the pale skin between V’s tattoos go impossibly more pallid, then pink and red with irritation. Nero could feel V’s neck muscles working against his palm. Could feel his pulse quickening too, though it got lost in Nero’s own racing heartbeat.

Just when Nero thought he might actually kill the guy, a hard and sharp pain collided with his stomach. It knocked the air out of him with its hot ferocity. Looking down, Nero could see the handle of V’s cane tucked tight against his abdomen. It hurt so much. Too much.

“What the hell?” Nero gasped.

He let go of V and stepped backward. Pulling away, the cane handle slipped from his gut, revealing a blade on its crook that had not been there before. Nero clutched his hands over the wound. His shirt was torn and already saturated with his blood. Blood dribbled onto the rug as he stumbled backward, breath hitching with panic. Feeling the back of his knees hit the edge of the office chair, Nero let himself fall into it. He hunched over, pressing his hands tight to the stab trying to get the blood to stop.

Footsteps approached, but Nero was too caught up in the pain and the panic. He saw V’s sandaled feet stop between his own. Still, Nero didn’t look up. So V made him, grabbing Nero’s chin in his palm and forcibly tilting his head upward. 

V smiled with all the affection of a starving owl looking at a wounded mouse.

V bent close enough that Nero could feel -practically  _ taste- _ his breath. “Now, we should cooperate to find  _ our  _ woefully lost uncle, hm?” 


	8. Chapter 8

On the ever-growing scale of beat downs Dante received, the one he got in the local mausoleum ranked about a nine-out-of-ten. The brutes turning his insides into paste really knew what they were doing. Consummate professional thugs, through and through.

Dante couldn’t tell how long he had been tortured. With his eyes covered he couldn’t really tell if it was night or day. It added to his disorientation almost as severely as the knuckles bouncing off his skull did. 

The men in the tomb alternately took turns beating the shit out of him and asking the same stupid questions. They obviously thought he was lying. What else was he supposed to say?

“Where are the files?” “I don’t know.”

“Why did you take them?” “I didn’t.”

“What are you planning?” “A birthday party.”

Maybe he deserved to get his nose busted for that one. 

When they first grabbed him from his office, Dante was sure they intended to kill him. That maybe they would drag him to the same spot Urizen had buried the girl. At least then Dante would have finally known where she was. It would have been a bittersweet reunion.

He didn’t resist, either. Nero had been upstairs, curled up on the sofa all peaceful and safe. Dante didn’t know what they would have done to him. So he pretended he was alone as usual and hoped that Nero was a heavy sleeper.

Cuffed, tied, blinded, and gagged; Dante was dragged out to a graveyard in the backseat of some stank clunker of a sedan. He only knew it was a graveyard because he heard the morons arguing about directions to the place. He hadn’t got a good look at them, but he doubted they were cops. Gangsters maybe? Mafia types? 

Did it really even matter who they were at this point?

When they first removed the cloth gag Dante made some comment about enjoying a rough date, which earned him his first of many fists to the mouth. Hours later with his hands and legs still cuffed and bound, his limbs became awash with pins and needles. He let himself fall over onto his side on the dirty floor in hope of some relief. 

“Not feelin’ so hot now, huh?” One of the men walked over and kicked him in the stomach.

Dante gasped out, coughing as his air escaped. He forced out a laugh. He wished he could see if only so he could give the thug his best come-hither stare.

“Sorry fella, I’m totally flaccid right now.” He flashed a grin and felt some blood roll out of the corner of his mouth.

The tomb suddenly filled with a tremendously loud screeching noise. Dante recognized the sound as the heavy iron hinges of the mausoleum door. They screamed again, followed by the heavy thud of the door settling back in its marble frame.

“A new guest has joined the party,” Dante said when he heard heavy footsteps coming his way, “And here I am without my nice pearls.”

He couldn’t see the newcomer but something instinctive picked up his memory and shook it. His guts bottomed out when he reached the assumption. Outwardly he forced another taunting smile.

“Captain? It’s been too long!” Dante spat out a glob of bloody snot on the floor in front of him, hoping it would hit Urizen’s feet. “How’s the wife?”

Urizen squatted down next to Dante. Dante could feel his body heat. Then he felt Urizen’s hand card through his hair. It was unnervingly gentle. Dante felt nauseous. A long moment passed in silence, though Dante could swear his heart was beating hard enough to echo around the whole room.

“Where’s the kid?” Urizen asked plainly.

Dante grit his teeth tight. “Leave him outta this.”

“He brought himself into it.” Urizen’s fingers tightened in Dante’s hair, violently wrenching his head backward.”I suppose that’s my fault as much as yours. I pitied him too much.”

Dante tried to writhe away, to get Urizen’s face further away from his. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I should have known he was under your wing the whole time,” Urizen continued, still gripping Dante’s hair tight and forcing him still. “The poor forgotten son of my misguided, wayward wife.”

“Nero didn’t do anything,” Dante growled. 

A pause. And then…

“Who is Nero?”

Shit.

Fuck.

Goddamn it.

Urizen’s hand left Dante’s hair and grabbed his forehead instead. Dante felt himself get shoved over until he was on his back. Urizen shoved his head back hard against the floor. Something hard pressed against his sternum. He thought it was Urizen’s knee. 

“Who. Is. Nero?” Urizen demanded to know.

Dante kept his stupid dumbshit mouth shut.

Urizen picked up Dante’s head again and shoved it violently against the floor. Though he was still blindfolded, Dante swore he could see spots in his vision. There was no way in hell he was going to say anything else. The agony of knowing he’d just put Nero in danger outweighed everything else.

Another knock against the floor made Dante choke on the saliva that had rapidly formed inside his mouth. He might have drowned in it if Urizen had not let him go then. Lolling his head to the side, Dante desperately hacked it out. The weight on his chest finally lifted, too. He gasped for air. 

“Find them.” Urizen’s deep voice commanded his goons. “Both V and this Nero.”

“What about him?” One of them asked.

“He wants to see her,” Urizen replied flatly, “Maybe a reunion will loosen that mouth of his.”

Footfalls faded away. The screeching door opened and then shut. More footsteps surrounded Dante where he lay. A new sound prickled inside his ears. Grinding. Stone against stone.

Hands slotted under his armpits. Another pair wrapped around his bound ankles. The world shifted and Dante felt himself being lifted and carried away by shuffling feet.

“She’s lost some weight,” One of the thugs sneered.

The others laughed.

Dante’s stomach turned.

Gathering what energy he could, Dante forcibly twisted around trying to break the holds on him. He bucked and writhed, seizing this way and that desperate to get away. He even shouted in his panic. The fear that gripped him was viceral, hideous.

The hold on his ankles slipped. Dante felt a surge of hope as his feet slammed against the floor. He tried to kick and shove. To use whatever leverage he could have. Buying seconds and hoping it would be enough.

It wasn’t.

Hands seized him again and forced him down. Over the lip of the sarcophagus, pressing harder the more he struggled to stay up. Something under his legs snapped and crumbled. More hard and horrifying objects slid and rolled under his body. He could only imagine what was there beneath him. What he was involuntarily being made to desecrate.

Stone ground against stone again. One by one the hands left his body. The air went stagnant around him. He shouted, screamed, but his voice only reverberated against the cold and rough rock. Dante’s breathing became erratic. The back of his throat tasted sour. He became hyper-aware of where he was laying. Who he was laying upon.

Every inward breath brought musty dirt into his mouth and nose. It tasted acrid. His head spun, unwilling to think about what the dust contained. He couldn’t see, but he could feel everything. Dante cried out again, kicking his feet against the walls and trying to reach the heavy lid to no avail. He could practically feel the air in the space degrading.

This is how it happened, Dante realized.

This was how she felt.

It was his fault, once again.

Everything.


	9. Chapter 9

Nero’s skin felt wet and cold. A clammy, uncomfortable sheet clinging to his face, neck, and arms. His hand shook clutching the telephone receiver in one hand, bloody fingers trembling as he dialed numbers into the rotary. 

Across the desk stood V, bent over and paging through that black binder he’d taken out of the drawer. He was slow - almost casual - in the way he flipped through. Having retrieved and set a few business cards neatly on the desk, V had left the act of actually calling Dante’s friends to Nero.

They needed those whom Dante actually trusted. Nero hated the implication that he was not included in that summation. 

The card listing an attorney's office belonged to Lady. Nero knew because Dante had written her nickname on the front of it along with a phone number that wasn’t printed on the card. Nero had called the office number first, only to reach the weekend answering machine. So he tried the handwritten number, only to get a long sequence of rings, unceasing. 

Nero clutched the wound in his stomach as he waited. The blood had slowed, but not stopped. His throat felt dry. His head throbbed painfully. He felt weak. Tired.

“I’m… I could be dying, you know.” Nero said to V, his voice gravelly.

“Then I’d suggest you work _ quickly, _brother,” V commented back with a smile. 

Nero glared, unwilling to believe. “We aren’t brothers. Stop saying we are.”

“Denial doesn’t invalidate truth,” said V, “I wonder if mother understood that in the end?”

V traced his fingers over the photo in the front of the binder. That woman Dante was convinced had been murdered. Nero saw what V was trying to imply: If they were brothers, and that woman was V’s mother, then she would have been Nero’s mother too. But Nero knew he was an only child. It had always said so on his paperwork. If he’d really had a brother his records would have noted that, right?

Nero shook his head and hung up the phone. He wanted to change the subject. He’d rather talk about anything else than V’s delusions. 

“If you didn’t see him leave, then how will you know where to go?” Nero asked.

“I have some ideas. But what we require is assistance.” V replied with another casual turn of a page. “Had you been more vigilant, you might have seen what happened.”

Nero felt his heart sink. He didn’t like how V implied that something bad happened and that he was to blame. Even though part of himself agreed...

“You could have woke me up.”

“I thought you were close enough to know. That Dante would have told you where he was going. I suppose I overestimated your relationship.” V smirked and it made Nero want to launch out of his seat and deck his so-called brother in the mouth.

“If you care that much then why aren’t you making these calls?”

“And expect them to believe me? After my _ brother _ and _ uncle _ spread such vicious rumors about me?”

“Fuckin’ drama queen-”

“Regardless,” V waved a hand dismissively, “It’s likely Urizen is involved _ somehow _. It’s also likely he won’t kill Dante outright. For a while at least.”

“Why not?”

“To use him as bait. For me.”

“Why does he want you?”

V chuckled a little, shifting his stance so that his hip jutted out more. He gave Nero a half-lidded look; sultry and suggestive in a way that made Nero’s skin crawl. V bit the tip of his own tongue a moment as if considering his words first.

“Why do you think?” V taunted, dark and playful. 

Irritated, Nero didn’t answer. He decided to try the next card. This one had the police department insignia. He hesitated. Dante was convinced the cops were dirty, right? That they were on Urizen’s side? So why did he keep a card from this particular detective? Was she worth trusting or not?

Nero felt his head spin again. His brain felt like it was sloshing back and forth in his skull. His pulse thrummed heavily once more, reminding him he might be running out of time on several fronts. 

He decided to call the number. It rang once. Then came a shrill beeping noise, muffled. Another ring, another set of beeps. Both Nero and V glanced toward the sound. Toward the door.

The door swung open forcefully, the back handle colliding with the wall with a loud bang. A woman rushed in with a pistol drawn. She pointed it at Nero first, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly offended by that. 

She was tall and blonde with a badge and holster on one hip, a bricky cell phone clipped to the other. The cell bleeped again. Nero hung up Dante’s phone to make it stop.

“You’re Trish, right?” Nero recalled the name on the card.

She nodded once then turned her attention to V.

“On your knees. Hands up.” Trish instructed him intensely.

V complied, but not without one of those annoyingly teasing smiles on his lips.

“Nero!” Came another, more familiar voice from the doorway.

Nero looked up to see Lady dart in. She rushed to him, stopping only when she saw the blood that covered him from the waist down. Something flickered across her face, a deep concern that made Nero’s own worries heighten.

“Don’t ask if I’m okay,” He tried to joke.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Lady announced, reaching for Dante’s desk phone. 

She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Nero’s blood smeared on her hands as she grabbed the phone and dialed.

“We don’t got time for that, we gotta get to Dante.” Nero said, weakly nodding towards V. “He knows…”

He tried to raise out of the chair, but Lady shoved a hand against his shoulder to get him to stay. She shook her head at him. Then she began relaying information to the dispatcher on the other line. Nero couldn’t gather the energy to oppose her. He slumped back and grimaced, feeling every muscle pulling and tearing at the hole in his gut. 

Sounds started to go all sharp and distant at once. It was as if someone had put a steel drum over his head. Everything was amplified. He could feel the sound waves on his skin.

That was probably bad.

Looking over, Nero tried to focus on V. Trish was already cuffing V’s hands behind his back. She brought him to his feet. They were talking about Dante. V was telling her about what he knew, unresistant in his arrest.

Did he actually care about Dante? Why?

“He’s about to take a dive,” Lady’s voice drew Nero’s attention, though he found he couldn’t move enough to look.

“I can’t swim,” Nero replied absently, laughing at the inanity of his own words.

V turned his gaze over to Nero. For just a second, Nero thought he saw a small worry cross V’s narrowing expression. That made him laugh a little, too, even though it hurt so much. It also made Nero want to shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at his brother anymore.

His brother?

“Nero…”

No, he didn’t have a brother.

“Nero!”

He didn’t have a family. 

“Nero.”

He didn’t want one. 

“Your father is here.”

He didn’t _ need _ one.

“Isn’t it nice?”

No.

“You have to...”

No.

“Get over it, already.”

No.

“Didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I can’t…”

When Nero opened his eyes he was no longer in Dante’s chair. He was no longer in Dante’s office at all. Everything was too bright. His eyes hurt, so he squeezed them shut. 

“Hey, there ya are.” 

Nero recognized the accent, but wasn’t the volume too soft?

“Nico?” Nero coughed finding his voice weak, “Where’s Dante?”

“Take it easy.” A hand pressed warmly against his forearm. “I gotta get the nurse. Don’t go passin’ out again.”

The hand pulled away. Nero couldn’t hear her leaving over the incessant beeping that echoed from somewhere over his shoulder. He wondered if he was still in some sort of dream. 

Details crawled into his senses, one by one. First, he noticed the smell. Those weird hospital scents. They were supposed to be sterile, but something about it was unsettling, even disgusting in a way. He felt a thin blanket laying on top of him. It was tucked in up to his chest. He tried to move his limbs and felt an odd dragging sensation in his skin. 

Cautiously, he opened his eyes again. The lights were still too bright above. So he rolled his head to the side. Looking down along his arm he saw several fading bruises and then an IV plugged and taped into the inner part of his elbow. Further down he noticed another line stuck into the back of his hand. Air was being pumped in a steady stream into his nose, through another tubular device taped to either side of his head.

Nero reached down to touch his stomach. He was wearing a greenish-blue hospital gown, but through the material he could feel the padding of thick bandaging over his stab wound. Now that he was aware of it again, he could recognize the deep aching pain that still radiated from it.

“Asshole almost killed me,” Nero mumbled out loud.

“Almost,” Came Vergil’s voice.

Nero’s heart dropped. His attention snapped in that direction. Seated to the left and slightly diagonal to the bed was his father. Nero took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his manic nerves. An acute distress washed through him.

“Dad…”

Even then the word felt foreign, hanging in the pause. An anomalous endearment. Empty but not.

“Why are you here?” Nero asked.

Vergil stared, unreadable as always. He was precisely dressed as usual, too; almost out-of-place in his expensive and custom-fit clothes. In the few years they lived together, Nero had rarely seen Vergil dressed casually. He’d wondered if working with antiques meant you had to dress like one.

“I was told my son had been hospitalized,” Vergil finally answered, “The first I’d heard word of him, since he ran away.”

“Is it really running away if you’re an adult?” Nero said.

“If the adult in question is behaving like a child,” Vergil replied sternly. 

Nero’s jaw set tight. They were always like this. Always circling like cats in an alley, unwilling to compromise the territory they could share. There was something that could be said for Nero’s stubbornness - it ran in the family. 

“That still doesn’t explain _ why _,” said Nero.

“Is your brush with death not enough reason?” Vergil asked, regarding Nero with an air of cynicism.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nico’s voice tore through the tension. “Cantcha say you care ‘bout yer son like a normal fuckin’ person?”

Both Nero and Vergil looked over to her. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. Nico lingered, staring them both down unflinchingly. Only when the nurse - a short man in rubber duck print scrubs - politely asked her to did she move, stomping across to Nero’s bedside.

“And _ you _,” Nico shook a finger at Nero, “Just accept that yer dad actually gives a shit about you. Some of us ain’t got that luxury.”

Nero waved his hand, batting her finger out of his face. “What are you, my therapist?”

“No, but y’all could pro’ly use one.” Nico huffed then sat at the end of the bed. 

The nurse went about checking Nero’s injuries and scribbling down notes on a clipboard. Nero didn’t resist. When he was asked about his head wound, Nero’s stomach did a small flip of surprise. It hadn’t hurt, so he’d almost forgotten about it. 

“Where’s Dante?” Nero asked Nico again.

Her expression fell, taking Nero’s heart with it. “I dunno. Last anyone heard ‘bout him was when they hauled you in.”

“When was that?”

“Uhm, ‘bout twelve hours ago?” Nico replied.

“What about his friends? The cop and that lawyer?” Nero shouted, feeling bilious anxiety swim in his chest. “V was gonna help them find him!”

A genuine look of confusion crossed Nico’s face, as if she didn’t know who he was talking about. Nero glanced to Vergil, who shook his head back blankly.

“Fuck. We gotta find them,” Nero growled then looked to the nurse, “Hey, get this shit outta me-”

The nurse gave him a startled look. “You can’t be released yet-”

“Bullshit! Take it off or I’ll get it off myself!”

“Please don’t do that.” The nurse pleaded with him in exasperation. 

“Nero,” Vergil added his voice to the mix, which only served to piss Nero off more.

“No, fuck you!” Nero snapped at his father. “You’re brothers! Don’t you care?!”

Vergil stood and swiftly crossed the room to Nero’s bedside. Nero could see the anger in his father’s eyes; dark and deep. A ferocity that made his skin prickle.

“You can’t guilt me about family, _ boy _.” Vergil spoke close and tense, “You have no right to question my concern.”

“Yeah? Is that the same concern you had for my mom?” Nero sneered back. “You ever gonna tell me what you did to her to make her leave?”

Vergil didn’t reply. There was something about his expression on the edge of undeterminable. He was always like that, but this time it was different; a flicker of something in the darkness of his gaze. It could have been something sad, or at the very least discontented. Nero felt no sympathy. In fact, he could feel a touch of pride in cracking Vergil’s facade.

After a tense moment passed, Nico spoke up again: “Maybe we oughta leave and let y’all talk-”

“No, I’m done.” Nero interjected, “I’m gonna go find Dante, with or without help.”

He turned his glare to the nurse again. The man looked uncomfortable. Nero couldn’t really blame him. There was a small amount of pity he felt for him; the nurse was only doing his job. But Nero needed to go, even though he didn’t know where to start. He thought he would go back to the office. Maybe he’d find something there. Anything would be better than laying around while Dante and the others could be out there in trouble.

“You can’t hold me hostage here,” Nero said to the nurse, “I want to leave. Do what you gotta do to get me outta here. Whatever paperwork I gotta sign-”

“Nero-” Nico tried to interrupt.

“You aren’t gonna stop me either!” Nero cut her off.

“I ain’t gonna, ya lil prick!” Nico insisted. “But I ain’t gonna let you go walkin’ around like _ that _ chasin’ after god-knows-what bullshit your weird-ass family got itself into! Get released, then I will _ take you _ wherever ya gotta go.”

“...Oh.” Nero blinked, surprised at the extent of Nico’s generosity. “Thanks, but it’s gonna be kinda dang-”

“Dangerous, yeah-yeah. Whatever. You can’t talk me outta this any more than we could talk you out.” Nico smiled a little, sharp but also genuine.

She hopped down off the bed and then turned to look over at Vergil. He turned his head to her. Nero felt a small measure of wonder and a thrill that Nico could so easily command a room’s attention; even his father. 

“I don’t know all of what’s goin’ on, and frankly I don’t really give a shit what yer excuses are.” Nico said firmly, “But Nero needs you right now. So does yer brother. You don’t want yer care questioned? Now’s the time to prove you do.”

Then she turned to the nurse, who still stood fidgeting and watching the spectacle unfold. Nico approached him and pat a hand against his shoulder.

“Pro’ly should just give these losers what they want,” she explained, “And quick, ‘fore tweedle-dum over there collapses a vein tryna rip his lines out or somethin’ stupid like that.”

The nurse nodded and walked away, muttering something about not getting paid enough as he left the room. Satisfied, Nico followed after him, telling Nero and Vergil that she would go make sure her van was “presentable for guests”. That left Nero alone with his father. Something he had wanted so much to avoid now an inevitability. Nero tried to settle back against the bed and wait, but the impatient anxiety inside him boiled. 

He couldn’t stand the thoughts that beat against his brain in the silence. What if something happened to Dante? To the others? What if V’s concern wasn’t genuine and he’d lead everyone into a trap? What if it _ was _ genuine and V really did intend to walk in as willing bait? What would happen then? How far would Urizen go?

“Worrying will only cripple you further,” Vergil broke the silence.

Nero glared at him. Vergil sighed and met his eyes. The coldness was still there, ever-present. But it didn’t cut. It wasn’t angry. 

“If you really wanna help me,” Nero said slowly, trying to control his own emotions for the sake of compromising, “I need you to tell me what you know.”

For just a second, the smallest hint of a smile tugged at Vergil’s mouth. He looked down and it was gone. Then Vergil moved and sat down on the edge of Nero’s hospital bed.

“You never seemed interested in listening before,” said Vergil soberly, “Has your care for Dante really grown so much in so little time?”

The question made Nero uncomfortable, so he didn’t respond. He stared forward past Vergil, eyes unfocused.

“Would you go to these lengths for me?” Vergil asked.

That drew Nero’s attention. He felt a pang in his chest reverberating out into his throat and stomach, blending in with the other stressful feelings that coursed through his guts. Vergil was right. Nero wouldn’t have known if his father were the one that disappeared. Faced with the speculation, he didn’t know what he’d have done if he ever found out, either.

“He will always take what’s mine, and he doesn’t even have to try,” Vergil said in a quieter tone, then turned his head to look at Nero. “What are your questions?”

Nero let out a staggered breath. He had so many, really. With the short time they had, it was difficult to choose the most important ones.

“Do you know about that missing woman’s case?”

Vergil’s jaw set a moment, and it appeared like he’d been prepared for that one. “Your mother.”

Nero’s breath sighed heavier. He felt a simultaneous relief at having the suspicion acknowledged, but also a tremendous sorrow for the confirmation. 

Nero cleared his throat, then continued: “Did Urizen really kill her?”

“Most likely.”

“Why’d she end up with him?”

Vergil’s expression hardened. Nero tensed up instinctively in response. 

“Because Dante told her to leave me,” Vergil replied stonily, “After she told him she was pregnant with you.”

“Why?” Nero’s mind raced even as it waited for a response, “Don’t tell me they were togeth-”

Vergil’s laugh interrupted. A single, bitter noise. Vergil shook his head, then leveled his eyes back to Nero’s confused gaze.

“He lied to her,” Vergil continued, “He said I would never want to have a family with her.”

“But _ why _?

Vergil took a deep inward breath, then huffed it out briskly. It was clear to Nero that this was something Vergil hadn’t wanted to address.

“Because Dante wanted to keep me for himself, in every way he could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That "dysfunctional family" tag is there for a reason. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	10. Chapter 10

“I felt that I tottered upon the brink…”

Voice ragged, slow. Breathless. Throat dry. Tongue tasting copper.

“I felt that I tottered upon the brink…”

What was the next line? Was there one? What story was it that raked over his brain? Just that one line out of an entire tale. Had it come from the beginning or the end? Vergil would remember it. Vergil read it out loud that time, while Dante laid there bored in front of the fireplace.

Eva had warned them not to give themselves nightmares with those old books. Her smile was so amused when she found Dante clinging to his brother under the blankets the next morning. She said she’d warned him he’d get scared. But Dante wasn’t afraid if Vergil was there. Not even after their parents died. 

His brother was all he had. All he wanted. He didn’t need anyone else. For anything. They could fulfill each other, couldn’t they? It didn’t matter what anyone else said or thought about him for clinging to his brother so. Why should it? Vergil was all he desired in the world.

Why couldn’t Vergil want him too?

“I felt that I-”

“Shut up,” Urizen’s voice sounded steely. 

The air was cold. Dante didn’t know where he was. He knew he’d been removed from the sarcophagus - that was obvious - but he wasn’t sure when. He’d passed out inside it and woke up still blindfolded. Still bound, too, though the binds had been shifted around. Now it felt like he was tied to a chair, seated in some unknowable room. It didn’t echo like the mausoleum. Dante wondered why Urizen had moved him, but he didn’t ask. 

He swore he could feel  _ her _ , too. The imprints of decayed limbs against his body. Impossibly clinging to him. If he drifted off too much, he would imagine them climbing through the floor to drag him chair and all into hell. So he tried to think of anything else. 

That line kept repeating in his head. That story... He couldn’t remember much of it - only the sound of his brother’s voice. They’d been so little then. They’d been whole. Before things got all messed up. It was before Dante’s feelings got so twisted. Now he clung to distant memories only half-remembered; reaching for stars and catching empty space.

“You know that story?” Dante spoke though his throat ached and his beaten skin stung, “The one about that guy in the pit? I forgot how it ends.”

Pressure at his throat. A hand. Gripping. Strangling the words off his tongue.

“You won’t kill me now,” Dante dared, feeling the pressure building behind his eyes. 

He wondered if Urizen would, eventually. If his thirst for revenge was that strong.

“Not until the audience arrives,” Urizen released his hand on Dante’s throat.

Dante drew in a sharp breath then stopped, going silent. He heard something like voices. Small and distant. Tinny, as if they spoke behind a speaker. He felt a pressure forced against his ear. A phone. He heard them.

“Dante! Are you alright?!”

Lady.

“Just hold on!”

Trish.

Dante’s lungs felt like they would collapse from the panicked hitching that once again seized them.

“Don’t,” He said, trying to shout but finding so little energy. “Don’t, it’s a trap. Just-”

A fist collided with the side of his head and Dante saw spots behind his blindfold.

Everything went quiet.

And then the dreams came, again.

***

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. We’ll find you somewhere safe to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure! It’s the least I can do, really.”

“I still can’t believe this is happening.”

“Yeah, Verge is a selfish guy. I mean, he could have at least told you himself... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for him. It’s sort of my fault too.”

“Ah, don’t say that. Things like this happen… But, hey! I’m gonna be out of training soon! Maybe I’ll find you a nice attractive policeman, yeah? Someone ready for a family? I bet lotsa guys would adore a cute MILF like you!”

Dante still felt sick remembering how she laughed at that.

***

“She left.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she got cold feet?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“This love shit rarely does.”

Dante had lied for the sake of his own heart, sacrificing his brother’s in the process.

***

“Find her for me. Tell me she’s alright.”

“That sounds like a bad idea. Besides, why do you care? She left!”

“Why do you always resist when I ask?”

“I just don’t wanna see you get hurt, man.”

“No, there’s something else. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Just drop it, already. You’re better off without her.”

“ _ Dante _ …”

She had already married Urizen by then, just a couple weeks before she was due.

***

“She’s gone.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’?”

The story unraveled and tied Dante up in its jagged strands.

***

“He killed her. I know he did. I’ll find the proof.”

Vergil hung up on him.

***

“Urizen put him up for adoption. Right after she ‘disappeared’.”

“Find him.”

“It’s been fifteen years-”

“ _ Find him _ .”

It would be the last time Vergil ever asked him for anything.

***

As his body woke again and his mind came back into reality, Dante realized he could see. His vision was blurred, but the blindfold was gone. He blinked his eyes rapidly to try and clear them.

“Shh,” A voice softly hushed into his ear.

Someone behind him was messing with the binds that tied him to the chair. A feminine voice that could have been Trish or Lady, though he couldn’t tell through the daze. In the distance, he heard other voices. Shouting. Urizen and someone else. Urizen was the loudest. The other was softer. Male. The stalker?

He called himself V, Dante recalled.

They sounded disjointed as if the two weren’t in the same room. As his vision cleared, Dante realized he was inside some darkened house. An old and slightly dilapidated home, but one that appeared to have some recent residence. 

It reminded him of the stately Victorian house he grew up in. Right now it appeared he had been placed in some sort of dining room, though his chair was pulled back away from the long, polished wood dining table. The carpet was intricately designed. There were paintings on the wall, framed with gilt and garish in the dim daylight that stretched from windows beyond that room. Overhead, a chandelier appeared to hold candles, but they were fake and electric, though not currently lit.

Dante couldn’t observe more, because the noise held his attention instead.

Racing footsteps through the winding rooms. Shouting through the halls. 

The sound of a gunshot deafened every other noise. Silent panic clustered in the air.

His hands came loose. Swollen. Tingling. Dante bent forward quickly to try and work the cutting nylon rope from his legs and ankles. His fingers wouldn’t work.

Lady and Trish shifted into his view on either side of him. Both kneeling, both pulling at the knots. Trish retrieved a utility knife from her belt and handed it to Lady. 

Another shot, closer. No more shouting voices. Heavy and methodical steps. Not V.

“As soon as you’re free, run. Both of you.” Trish whispered as Lady sawed into the rope.

“I’m not gonna-” Dante tried to speak, but the desperate look Trish gave him made him stop.

“I already called for help,” Trish explained, “Please don’t make that be vain.”

She stood up. Dante watched her retrieve her pistol. The pit in his stomach grew and grew, engulfing him with dread. 

The rope popped loose. His legs came free. Dante tried to stand and felt his feet go flush with more pins and needles. Scurrying under his skin, deep in his muscles. Painful, but not. He started to fall.

Lady shoved herself up under his arm, shouldering his weight with a struggling grunt. One of her hands pressed against his chest firmly. The other arm wrapped tight around the back of his waist. He tried to balance quickly.

“Go.” Trish said and she started walking through the room, determined but cautious.

“No,” Dante growled, trying to go in that direction too.

Lady pulled back on him and started dragging them both the opposite way. His weak legs stung and resonated with each step. He wanted to resist more. But if he did he’d alert Urizen. That would put Trish and Lady in even more danger. He hated it, but he finally complied.

They made it into a hallway. He let Lady lead. There was an ornate doorway at the end that seemed likely to be the exit. Dante kept his eyes focused on it as they got closer. The feeling started to come back into his limbs. Once he got Lady outside, maybe he could come back for Trish.

A shot. Then two. A third.

“Fuck,” Dante snarled, his pulse thrumming like a terrified bird against his ribs.

“We have to keep go-” Lady started to say.

Another shot came, the sound so close it vibrated through the floor and Dante’s chest. The smell of gunpowder invaded the air. Lady fell away from him. He followed her down.

“No,” Dante’s voice staggered, “C’mon. No- goddamnit-”

On his knees next to her, Dante could see where she’d been shot. A rapidly bleeding wound through her back and out the right side of her chest. She writhed, crying out. Her hands clutched over the wound.

“Get out, Dante. Go.” She wheezed. 

“Stop,” He panicked, “Stay alive. I still got debts I owe you, remember?”

Dante looked around for the knife she’d had, but didn’t see it. He cursed again. Then he stood, still wobbling but growing strength by the second. He turned, looking down the hall away from the door. Long enough for him to face Urizen at the other end. Intimidating and commanding as always. A scary kind of guy. He had blood on his clothes, dark stains down his chest and arms. Maybe some of it was his.

Something moved further down the hall, behind Urizen. A dark shadow in the low light. Dante’s heartbeat throbbed with surprise.

“Hey Captain,” Dante said trying to buy time, “How’s it goin’?”

It was just enough time to see Urizen walk forward. To see the grim and malicious expression on his face. To see him raise his pistol, take aim, and fire.

The bullet shattered Dante’s collarbone. It burned as it dug in, stopping somewhere deep inside. His flesh felt like it was melting - on fire - coursing in a flood of agony through his chest and arms. Dante shouted, screaming against the shock. But his eyes couldn’t leave Urizen.

Just as the bullet penetrated Dante’s body, a blade punctured up and through Urizen’s throat. Dante watched Urizen’s eyes fly wide with disbelief. The blade turned inside, mangling the flesh and cartilage with a wet crunching noise. Urizen strangled on it, blood and bits of his own meat rushing in a torrent and smothering the sounds of his struggle. Dropping the pistol, Urizen’s hands flew to the blade, but then it disappeared, ripped out from the back of him. He fell forward, revealing the shadowy figure behind him.

“Stalker…” Dante breathed.

Dante dropped to his knees, too, holding a hand against the hole in his chest. V didn’t look like he could stand much longer either. His face was bruised up and bloody, particularly around his mouth and nose where dark red rivers stained his skin, both wet and dry. He gripped his cane tightly, the long sharp blade extending from the end dripping with Urizen’s gore.

“I gotta get one of those…” Dante said to himself before he felt he could no longer stay vertical.

He fell to the floor and wheezed with anguish as pain shot from his chest again. He rolled onto his side then, determined to at least see the end of this disastrous circus.

He watched V thrust the blade back into Urizen, this time lower and through the man’s spine. Urizen might have screamed, but it only came out as a gurgle. V pulled the blade out again and Urizen fell forward, face down on the carpet with a heavy thud.

With more of V’s body visible, Dante could see several wounds dotted across his skin. It was impossible to tell what had caused them, though “who” was never in question. He wore less clothing than usual, stripped down to only his black pants and sandals. His abdomen and below appeared all red. He seemed somehow even more frail; otherworldly in the way he managed to keep himself standing.

“No more,” V’s voice trembled as he stood over Urizen’s body, a foot planted on either side of his torso. “No more…”

V held the cane up with both hands, then drove it down into Urizen, impaling him through the back of the neck once again. V’s hands clung to the cane but they slipped, sliding further and further down until he laid across Urizen’s back. 

Dante watched, but the edges of his sight darkened and blurred. So he listened. He could hear Lady still struggling, gasping, behind him. He pinned to go to her. Someone had to get out of this. She would deserve to. She could have anything of his, even if it was all garbage, if she could get out alive.

He couldn’t hear Urizen’s gurgling anymore. He couldn’t hear V. He almost couldn’t hear his own heartbeat anymore.

The carpet scratched his skin. His blood was warm and soaking into it. There was a lot of blood everywhere. He spared a thought for the poor crime scene techs that would have to deal with this mess. 

He spared a thought for everyone.

For Nero.

What would he tell Vergil?

What would Vergil tell him?

“I felt that I tottered upon the brink…”

The voices were loud. Too loud. Growing louder. Distracting. He still couldn’t remember the next part of the story.

Hands grabbing him. He shouted. He flailed. Not again. Not again. Those lifeless, decayed limbs leaving their acrid dust on his skin, marking him for his sins, staining his soul-

“Dante!”

He stopped struggling and looked toward that voice. That face, just above his. A rotten angel. Stubborn brat.

“Nero…” Dante spoke, then coughed. “You’re not supposed-”

“I said I was gonna get in the way, right?” Nero’s voice shook and Dante hated it.

“That’s a bad habit,” Vergil said. “For both of you.”

Dante turned his head to look at his brother, disbelieving. “Vergil? Fuck, I’m in hell…”

Nero laughed - the first happy sound Dante had heard in hours. Maybe days. It made him feel all at once content. Like he was floating. Maybe he really was floating. The world felt like it was spinning out of control.

“Brother, how does that story end?” Dante asked Vergil, though he found he could no longer see him.

“What?” Vergil questioned back.

“The man in the pit… What happened to him?” Dante looked around but he couldn’t see a thing.

He should have felt scared, but he wasn’t. 

So he averted his eyes and let the hands carry him away.


	11. Chapter 11

“It’s gonna cost ‘bout a thousand dollars to fix everything,” Nico explained as she flicked the ash off her cigarette onto the parking garage pavement.

“Yeah, who’s fault is that?” Nero huffed out a laugh.

“This family of morons, maybe ya know ‘em.” She grinned.

She was sitting sideways in the driver’s seat of the van, the door hanging open and her legs propped up on the floorboard frame. The garage provided enough shelter from the torrent of rain beating down on the hospital. Smoking technically wasn’t allowed anywhere on the campus, but Nico wasn’t the only one Nero saw ducking into the garage to get a fix. 

The van was pretty jacked up. That unpaved road out to Urizen’s house nearly destroyed the suspension, especially given Nico’s reckless driving. In the moment Nero only focused on getting out there to help. In hindsight, he was lucky the ride didn’t tear open his wounds and kill him.

It was a little amusing, though, to see how displeased Vergil was getting bounced around in the back.

They would both owe Nico deeply for her assistance, however. Dante would have probably died if they hadn’t taken the shortcuts she did. (The other survivors, too, he thought with some guilt that he only focused on his uncle.) Nico’s weird connections and skills continued to be godsends.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Nero spoke as he waved a hand through the cigarette smoke that wafted toward him, “Why do you have a police scanner?”

“Why not?” She asked with a smirk, “Never know when you’ll haveta get a friend outta a jam.”

“What kinda friends you got?”

“The kind that get in trouble, _ obviously _.”

Nero laughed again. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, reaching back to the rough scabby line across the back of his head. It didn’t hurt anymore, but it was uncomfortable. The wound in his stomach ached. He’d got it checked out the day before. Got it cleaned and rebandaged but refused to be readmitted to the hospital. With everything else going on his own wounds weren’t his priority. At least he was still standing. Still awake and breathing on his own.

He remembered how strained Trish’s voice sounded on the radio. How she whispered - so harshly - pleading for help. There was a chorus of replies after that from emergency services. But she never came back on. After they arrived at the house, they could see why.

He’d never seen so much blood before. Never seen so much struggling and anguish. He’d been thankful that Nico went to Lady first because the way her breath rattled and splattered blood made him feel dizzy. It was all overwhelming; those sights and sounds and smells. All so vivid still. He zoned out a lot when he thought about it. 

Nero and Vergil had both gone to Dante. Vergil was the one that attempted first aid while they waited for the police and ambulances to arrive. Nero didn’t know what to do. He was so unprepared. He just talked to Dante, trying to keep him awake. It was all he could do, and even then Dante still lost consciousness. Nero hated how useless he felt through everything. Dante was right; he was more of a burden than anything. Deadweight. 

“Hey, Nero, yoo-hoo~” Nico waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his brooding. “I’m talkin’ here!”

“Huh? What?” Nero shook his head and looked to her.

She rolled her eyes. “As I was _ sayin’ _... What’re ya gonna do now?”

“I dunno,” Nero shrugged, shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and leaned back against the van next to the open door. “Go back to delivering pizza I guess? What else are you supposed to do after something like this?”

“Hell if I know,” Nico took a final drag off her cigarette then sighed out the smoke, “Gettin’ back to normal ain’t a bad idea, though. We both got lotsa shifts to make up for.”

“Yeah, if I even have a job still,” Nero chuckled.

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that,” Nico smiled, “I got connections.”

“You always do,” Nero grinned back.

“Damn right!” Nico flicked the cigarette down onto the pavement.

Nero watched it roll, then stepped on it to snuff it out.

“Listen, uh,” Nero glanced back to her, “Thanks, y’know, for helping me out? You didn’t have to.”

“I couldn’t let you assholes go runnin’ off blind like that,” She said, “Wouldn’t weigh right on my conscious if y’all got killed by your own stupidity. So, yer welcome.”

“How’s it you can be so nice and such an incredible bitch at the same time?”

“It’s a talent!” Nico beamed, “Look, I gotta head out. Gotta take my baby in ‘fore she falls apart.”

“Need any help?” Nero offered.

“Nah, go take care of yer family,” Nico shook her head. “And take care of yourself, too. Don’t wantcha fallin’ over dead on company time.”

“Moped from Hell might just kill me anyway,” Nero teased back.

Nico chuckled. Then she extended a hand in the air. Nero caught it, giving her a hi-five and a fistbump. After that, he pushed away from the van, taking a few steps away. Nico situated herself facing forward and slammed the door shut. Then she slammed it again because it didn’t hitch the first time. 

“My poor baby, lookit what you did to her,” Nico complained through the open window.

“Hate to break it to you, but your ‘baby’ was always a pile of shit,” Nero replied.

“That’s alright,” Nico said as she turned the engine on, “I’ll make sure I send you her nice fat repair bill.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you will.” Nero waved her off as she reversed.

“Don’t tempt me, fuckboy!” Nico called back once more before driving off toward the garage exit. 

Nero headed in the opposite direction, toward the footpath entrance that led back to the hospital. He lifted his hood to cover his hair then jogged through the pouring rain to the front door. The receptionist looked up at him when the doors slid open. He rolled up his left sleeve to show her the visitor band around his wrist. She nodded and looked back to her clunky white CRT computer screen.

There was an odd feeling knowing that of the handful of people he now knew, half of them were in intensive care. 

He took the elevator up to the third floor. He could hear the machines before the doors even opened. The bleeping and blooping and hissing of life-sustaining technologies he could never hope to understand. Some nurses milled around the hall, checking in on different rooms. None of them seemed particularly interested in him. Maybe they were already used to seeing him. It had been two days.

The first room he stopped by was Lady’s. The handwritten name-tag on the door read Mary Ann Arkham. Nero remembered that name from her business card too. He wondered why Dante called her Lady. After calling her that, Nero had a hard time seeing himself calling her anything else either.

Lady was awake with her bed adjusted into a sitting position. There was a newspaper laying on her lap. When Nero stepped forward he could see she was pouring over the front page. There was a large headline about the incident at the house. The large black TV hanging in the corner also had the news on, though it was only the weather report. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Nero asked softly.

Lady startled a little but smiled when she recognized him. “I am… resting.”

Her words were slow and her breath was shallow. The bullet had collapsed her lung. Nero didn’t know how close she’d been to dying, only that she was strong and persistent enough not to. She was hooked up to some IVs and had an oxygen line and heart monitor, but the other heavy-duty life support had been taken away. The doctors had told her she’d probably be laid up for a few weeks, but Nero thought she’d probably prove them wrong.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets again and stood at the side of her bed. His eyes glanced over the newspaper. Doing so made his stomach turn, so he stopped and looked back at Lady.

“You need anything?” He asked.

She shook her head. “How’s… everyone?”

“Still knocked out,” Nero spoke honestly, “But stable. I was gonna go check on them too.”

“And you?” Lady asked gently.

Nero smiled at her concern. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

She gave him a weak look of doubt. Then she settled back against her pillow. Nero reached over and grabbed the newspaper, sliding it off her lap and setting it on the table sitting next to the bed.

“Rest,” He said, “I’ll bring you any hot gossip I run across.”

Lady’s lips twitched into a tired smile. Then she sighed and shut her eyes. Nero left quietly and headed further down the hall. 

The next room was Trish’s. He wasn’t allowed inside before and he still wasn’t. The door was shut. Her name was on the placard. Underneath it was another sign. CRITICAL: AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY. Nero peeked through the small rectangular window instead.

The room was dim; the overhead lights were dialed back. Trish laid in her bed on her back, completely still. There were so many tubes and lines coming off her she looked like an alien creature stuck in cryostasis. A doctor was at her side, fiddling around with some large piece of equipment and then writing down something on a clipboard. 

Nero felt his throat go tense, a sad emotion clenching inside him. He forced himself to step away. They wouldn’t tell him anything about her. He wasn’t family. He hoped that she did have someone else to worry over her. Someone who could help.

He stopped by a water fountain and took several long deep gulps of cold water to soothe the aching tremble in his throat. Then Nero headed to Dante’s room. 

It was laid out similar to Lady’s room, only mirrored because it was on the other side of the hall. The lights were all out, but the TV was on. But it was quiet, the volume barely heard over the constant beeping of Dante’s heart monitor. 

Nero’s eyes first went to Dante, who laid still and silent like he had been since he was brought in. There was an oxygen mask over most of his lower face. Those little sticky pads with cords coming off them dotted his skin. (Nero thought he should know the real name for them by now.) Much like Trish, Dante also had many other tubes and devices running to and from his body, each doing its best to keep his uncle alive. 

His trauma wasn’t as severe as Trish, but Dante had lost a lot of blood on top of the physical beatings he took. Every inch of him seemed covered with black and green bruises. Or at least what Nero could see above the blankets that were tucked in around him.

Next, Nero’s gaze found his father. Vergil sat next to Dante’s bed in a chair that Nero had left there last time he visited. His father was sitting back with his right arm on the armrest. His left hand was up by his face, his fingers rubbing over his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. In the glow of the television, Nero could see Vergil’s visitation wristband. It looked a little worn and rumpled, as if Vergil had spent many minutes fidgeting with it.

Nero had never seen his father look so tired.

“Hey,” Nero quietly broke the silence, “My turn.”

Vergil glanced up when Nero approached the side of his chair. He hesitated, but then stood up to let Nero take over.

They’d been doing this every few hours since Dante was allowed to have visitors. One would sit in the dark and watch TV or nap or talk to the nurses and get the same feedback that Dante was stable and could probably wake up but probably wouldn’t anytime soon. And despite that, they would continue to sit and stare and wait and hope.

It was the first time father and son cooperated on anything.

Vergil stretched his long limbs while Nero flopped down in the seat. It was warm from Vergil’s body. Nero welcomed it, though, because the hospital was always so cold. It had been cold and wet outside, too.

“No changes, I take it?” Nero asked.

“None,” Vergil replied, “At this point I wonder if he’s just being stubborn.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Nero snorted. 

“You always talk like you know him so well,” Vergil said, though it sounded more like an outward musing.

“Well, you complained about him enough,” Nero’s eyes met his father’s, “See? I listened to you. Sometimes.”

“Not when it mattered,” Vergil pointed out and Nero could see a sigh escape him.

Nero felt something hanging in the pause. An expectation. Now would be a chance to apologize. For what? In truth, there were a lot of things he could - and probably should - have apologized for. It wasn’t like he didn’t feel sorry, either. But whenever he thought about what he should say, the words crumbled inside his mouth.

Maybe it didn’t need to be something elaborate. Maybe he didn’t need an itemized list of all the things he did wrong. Maybe all he needed to say was-

“I’m sorry,” Said Vergil.

Nero’s heart fell into his stomach.

“I was unfair to you,” Vergil continued, still holding his gaze to Nero’s, “I placed expectations on you that I had no right to give.”

Nero’s breath hitched. “Stop.”

Not here. Not right now.

“I was not equipped to be your father,” Vergil continued, his words slow and precise, “And I can acknowledge that I’m still not.”

“Stop.” Nero repeated and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes to fight the sad burning welling inside them. “Dad, it’s…”

Not okay. It’s never been okay. 

“I was wrong to you too,” Nero hated how his voice shook, “I didn’t let you… I didn’t want…”

Words crumbling. Dying on his tongue. Throat tight and heart shuddering. Eyes wet. Hot. Leaking through no matter how much pressure he held against them.

An arm wrapping around his chest from behind. And then a second. Holding him. He wanted to move away. He wanted more. He didn’t know what he wanted. He never did.

Nero felt a cry, a struggling sob, escape his mouth. That broke him enough to let the emotion fall freely. All the sadness and frustration and confusion, built on top of one another for years and years. A wall that stretched far beyond the day Vergil reclaimed him.

“I still want to be your father,” Vergil’s voice was soft, curling into Nero’s ears with a gentleness Nero had never heard from him before, “If you want to be my son.”

Nero sobbed and curled in a little more into Vergil’s hold. How was he supposed to answer something that heavy when he could barely breathe?

“Aw, you guys,” Came Dante’s voice, ragged and muffled through his oxygen mask, “You’re gonna make me cry too.”

“Dante!” Both Nero and Vergil shouted in surprise. 

They both rushed to his side, too. Nero quickly wiped the tears and snot from his own face with the back of his hoodie sleeve. He still felt like he could cry, now with joy mixing in with all the grief. Nero couldn’t help the grin that came when Dante blinked open his eyes and looked up at him.

“Hey, kid.” Dante mumbled, squinting. “Dark in here. Or am I going blind again?”

Nero let out a shaking laugh. He couldn’t contain the happiness that swept through him. He nearly threw himself onto Dante to hug him.

“Hey, hey, watch it,” Dante winced though he also raised a hand to pat Nero on the arm, “I’m feelin’ like a tenderized steak here.”

“Sorry,” Nero said and he pulled back quickly.

“Hey, Verge,” Dante addressed his brother next. “You’re still here?”

“Dante,” Vergil acknowledged him.

Nero looked between the two. He could tell that Vergil wanted to say more. Whatever it was, his father didn’t continue. Instead, Vergil turned and started to walk away.

“I’ll get the doctor. They’ll want to know you’re awake.”

“Hey!” Dante called after his brother and Vergil paused in his steps, “Ask them to bring me some ice cream?”

“I will _ not _,” Vergil let out a deep and long-suffering sigh, then continued on his way out of the room.

“Was worth a shot,” Dante commented, a grin clearly spreading behind his mask. 

“I can’t believe you,” Nero laughed.

He sat back down in the chair next to the bed. This time he sat closer to the edge, so he could rest his arms on the edge of the mattress. Rubbing his palms over his eyes again, Nero tried to quell the mixture of feelings that ran through him. 

“You okay?” Asked Dante.

“Are you really asking me that?” Nero lowered his hands and looked to his uncle. 

“Yeah, you look like shit,” Dante replied.

“You should see yourself,” Nero smirked.

Even awake Dante looked so worn-out. Like it was a miracle he could talk at all. Nero was happy to hear his voice, though, even if it was the same jokes and sarcasm as usual. It was a quirk, he realized, some sort of safety mechanism Dante used when things got bad. 

“But are you okay?” Dante asked again.

Nero’s chest felt tight. He’d told everyone he was. He’d told them not to worry. In comparison to Dante, Nero was fine. The last person he wanted to worry over him was Dante. But Dante would probably see right through him, too.

“I’m… feeling better,” Nero shifted a little in his seat and fidgeted his hands together for lack of anything else to do with them.

Dante reached over with one hand and patted it against Nero’s hands, stilling them.

“Yeah, me too.”


	12. Chapter 12

The agents standing in Dante’s hospital room looked exactly how special investigations agents should look. Black suits, clipboards, badges; he was surprised they weren’t wearing sunglasses indoors as they did in the movies. They gave off that pretentious vibe, too, like they knew more than you did about anything. Everything they did was a super cool special secret. Student council members, grown adult.

Dante knew why they were there before the two men even spoke. He’d been expecting a visit since the moment he woke up. Kind of them to give him a week or so to enjoy his painful recovery first. Would have been nicer if they had given a shit before any of this happened.

Then again it probably wasn’t their fault. Dante’s reports always got rejected. His clout was even less trustworthy after he’d been fired. He would have been doubtful of a disgruntled former cop as well.

They spoke at length about the incident. That’s what they called it, “an incident”. Not a rampage or a kidnapping or a near-massacre. An incident, like a kid swiping candy from a convenience store. They told Dante about the case surrounding Urizen as if he didn’t know, as if he hadn’t spent the last twenty-something years with its claws dug in his back. And still they didn’t have all the details right. Dante recalled facts off the top of his head that they had to dig through sheet after sheet of paper to find.

He was right. He knew he was always right. Having their confirmation was a bittersweet vindication. 

Nero arrived near the end of the interview. That was better news to Dante. One of the agents glanced at Nero and said they were conducting a private investigation. Nero paused in the doorway, holding a tray of food from the cafeteria. Dante thrilled at the glare his nephew shot the man, looking just as offended as he had every right to be.

“Let the kid stay,” Dante said, “He should hear about it, too.”

The agents shared a displeased look but then moved aside to let Nero in. Dante watched his nephew beam at them cockily as he walked by. Defiant little shit.

Nero walked over and set his tray down on the table next to Dante’s bed. It was supposed to be Nero’s lunch; though it was closer to a brunch given how early in the day it was. Nero grabbed a small cup and a spoon off the tray and handed it to Dante. It was cold. The little aluminum seal on top of the cup indicated it was a strawberry parfait. How thoughtful.

“You’re a real life-saver,” Dante commented as he peeled the lid away.

“Yeah right,” Nero laughed, turning the chair next to the bed so he could better face both Dante and the agents.

As Nero settled in his seat and grabbed his sandwich off the tray, one of the agents continued on his information relay. He spoke about arrests that had been made, Urizen’s cohorts, and the evidence they’d provided of the lengths the captain had gone to hide his secrets. That his wife had intended to leave after she’d given birth. That she had a change of heart and wanted to go back to Vergil. How that had enraged Urizen. He had thrown her into the sarcophagus alive. They still weren’t sure if he’d actually intended for her to die there, but she did.

Dante felt his appetite wane. Nero had finished his sandwich by the time the conversation circled to his mother’s fate. He didn’t reach for anything else. He just sat back in his chair and stared at the wall. Dante felt a twisting pang in his chest for Nero.

He never would have experienced this, had Dante not meddled with his parents.

“After she… died,” Nero cleared his throat and looked to the agent that had been speaking. “He put me up for adoption, yeah?”

“Seems so, though his name wasn’t on the paperwork.” The agent flipped to some page to double-check. “You were an anonymous drop-off.”

“Not anonymous enough,” Dante commented as he set his half-eaten ice cream back on the tray.

That earned him a confused glance from Nero. He thought it might. Dante tried to give a reassuring sort of smile. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Dante said.

Nero shook his head, then turned his attention back to the agents. “What about V? He said we were brothers. Was he lying?”

“That’s a little… more complicated.” The more talkative agent said. “The short answer is yes, you are. Twins, in fact. Obviously fraternal.”

It looked like Nero had all of the air punched out of his lungs. He slumped back further in his chair. Sliding down, slouching. He rubbed his hands over his eyes roughly. Scrubbing out his emotions, Dante thought. He’d noticed it was a habit.

Nero slid his hands up to the top of his head, his fingers gripping into his short, silvery hair. “What did Urizen do with him?”

“From the information we have now, we believe he kept him. Though very few people ever saw him. It seems like he kept the boy under extremely strict captivity. There’s no documentation. Not even a birth certificate.”

“Why? Why keep him?” Nero asked, his voice straining a little.

Dante wondered that too. His mind reeled trying to piece it together. The agent indicated that they, too, were still trying to figure out the breadth of Urizen’s motivations. Looking to Nero, Dante watched how his nephew’s breath came deep and long. Like he was forcibly trying to steady them. His fingers pulled and released at his hair. His hair…

V’s hair was black.

Like…

“Oh,” Dante sighed and shut his eyes. “He looked like her.”

A nauseating epiphany.

“What?” Nero’s question was so soft.

Dante opened his eyes and looked toward Nero. He sort of wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to see the pleading sadness there.

“You looked too much like your dad...” Again Dante tried to give a placating smile, but there was no actual joy in it and it accomplished nothing to soothe the misery in Nero’s expression. “But V looked like your mom… If he couldn’t keep her, he’d keep her son. At least the one that reminded him of her. Maybe he wanted to control him? Like he tried to control her.”

“That’s not out of the realm of possibility,” The less-talkative agent mused. “There is a lot of evidence to indicate that sort of relationship between them. Though we won’t really know the full extent until we can speak with him.”

“So, V’s still alive?” Dante asked with some honest surprise.

The agents exchanged a look. It made Dante’s stomach bottom out. Whatever they were going to tell him, he probably wasn’t going to like it.

“More than that,” one of them replied, “He’s missing.”

“What? That kid couldn’t even  _ move _ last I saw him. How the hell is he  _ missing _ ?” Dante questioned harshly.

“That’s... a mystery we’ve yet to solve. He regained consciousness in a high-security ward. Within an hour he was gone. He’s still very injured.”

“Ugh, goddamnit,” Dante looked up at the ceiling then squeezed his eyes shut. 

It couldn’t just be over, could it? He couldn’t get some peace. Not like he deserved it or anything, but he wanted it all the same. Now his brother still hated him, his friends were hurt because of him, and his creepy stalker  _ nephew _ was either on the loose or dead in a ditch somewhere. 

He opened his eyes but kept staring up at the ceiling tiles. 

“I get it, okay?” He mumbled to whatever chaotic god watched over him, “Couldja cut me some slack here?”

“We’ll keep in touch.” One of the agents said as they excused themselves from the room.

Dante didn’t look or reply. He felt so tired. He’d been looking forward to finally getting out of the hospital. He wasn’t so sure now. V hadn’t seemed like much of a threat, beyond the suspicion that he was working with Urizen. After seeing the guy in action - and knowing more about him - Dante was starting to believe that his erstwhile stalker had been the greater menace the whole time.

A soft touch encircled his wrist. It drew Dante’s attention. Nero was standing next to his bed.

“I need to tell Dad…” Nero said, “About V. He should know, too.”

“Yeah,” Dante nodded.

He’d known about the pregnancy for fifteen years before he told Vergil. Nero had confirmation about his brother for all of five minutes, and already he wanted to tell his dad. He was so good, Dante thought. Far too good to be anyway related to him.

Nero’s hand slipped away. His warmth remained, though. Dante could feel it almost tingling on his skin. When Nero left the room, Dante found himself reaching to his wrist and covering the spot Nero touched with his hand. He laid back, though he couldn’t go too far with the upright position of his bed.

Nero barely knew him. He’d done so much for Dante, for no reason other than he apparently wanted to. Nero earnestly tried to help, even when Dante resorted to violence to try and keep him away. His nephew had gone to so many lengths for him, not even knowing the whole story. He still didn’t know everything, because Dante hadn’t told him yet.

But Nero still stayed. He still visited Dante every day before work. He kept Dante company and brought him ice cream and watched TV and laughed and talked shit and laughed some more.

In a couple of short weeks, Nero had brought so many unexplainably bright moments into Dante’s life. All Dante had ever given him was suffering. 

He felt a glimmer of something. Familiar, but not entirely. A sense of protection swelling, intense and agonizing. A knowing that he should keep Nero from him, because that’s the safest place anyone could be. But there was also the want to keep him close. That bright spark. The need to covet it.

A familiar feeling, remixed. Old and new.

“Fuck,” Dante said into his empty room.

***

He knew that Vergil would leave soon. It was an honest surprise he stuck around this long. Though maybe that was more for Nero than Dante. Vergil came around occasionally, but for the most part he stayed away. It was probably still too much to be in the same room. Honestly, it was surprising Vergil even came to say goodbye.

Dante smiled up at his brother when he walked in. An honest smile, too. Vergil didn’t return it. Dante hadn’t seen his brother smile in decades.

“I’m leaving,” Vergil said curtly.

Dante nodded. There was a pause. Awkward.

“I’m glad you came,” Dante said finally.

“It wasn’t for you,” Vergil replied.

“Yeah, I know… But I’m still glad.” Dante gave a small laugh. Stinging.

Vergil drew in a deep breath through his nose and then let it out. He still stared at Dante in that harsh way that he used to find so exciting. Now Dante despised it.

“I asked Nero to come with me,” said Vergil, “He declined.”

It was Dante’s turn to sigh. Really, it would be better if Nero went home. Back to his dad, where he could be safe. Away from Dante.

Vergil kept speaking: “I don’t understand why or how he’s become so attached to you.”

Dante wanted to say something clever. Something funny to poke at Vergil like he used to. Anything to lighten the mood. For once, he ignored that urge.

“To be honest? Me neither.” Dante said instead. 

“Dante,” Vergil addressed him with stony seriousness - his eyes sharp and threatening, “Don’t ruin my son.”

Because Dante ruined everything.

“I won’t,” Dante promised.

And he hoped that, this time, he was telling the truth. 


	13. Chapter 13

Navigating the bus system became easier over time. It was still far slower than going by car, but Nero almost preferred it on some days. Commutes from his motel to the hospital and then back for work gave him time to relax. To think, or _ not think _, about anything. 

The routine inspired him to pick up a portable radio-cassette deck so he could listen to something other than the droning bus engine. He’d always kind of wanted one. Vergil would have probably bought him one back in the day. Nero never asked. Now they were cheap because the new hot thing was MP3 players (if you had money) and portable CD players (if you had slightly less money). Nero mostly wanted a radio, though, so the off-brand thrift store find suited his needs.

The days went by. Nero listened to music to and from the hospital. Sometimes he’d bring something for Dante, but most times he just brought himself. They would just hang out for a few hours watching TV or talking about current events. Nero would talk about songs he heard on the way over and Dante would complain about “music today” as if the music from his youth wasn’t also trashy. Sometimes they would speculate - half-jokingly - about V and if he might be lurking somewhere watching them. Or they would discuss Trish or Lady’s progress. Dante would say he was “winning” as if their recovery was a race. 

They _ didn’t _ talk about Urizen.

They _ didn’t _talk about Vergil.

Nero couldn’t decide if he wanted to. Dante wouldn’t bring up either. So Nero put his questions on hold for the sake of letting his uncle relax. He did his best to help with that. He hoped that it was working.

Something inside him said he should have felt angry. He should have demanded answers. Didn’t he deserve them? Vergil told him about how manipulative Dante was. His father still suspected Dante was always up to something. He’d said as much when he asked Nero to come back home. 

It was Dante’s fault that his mother left. Because he’d been jealous? Nero wondered to what extent that jealousy went. Vergil hadn’t gone into the details too much. It almost seemed to pain him to do so, which was a new and slightly scary emotion for Nero to witness. All Vergil wanted was for him to come home and let Dante lay in the thorny nest he’d made for himself.

Nero had told his father that he didn’t feel like Dante was manipulating him. Vergil said that was a mistake. But Vergil didn’t fight his decision to stay any more than that. He said Nero was always welcome to come back, when he was ready. There was an air of uncertainty there. Nero resolved that he would go back to visit at least. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bridge the gap between them, if Nero was willing to build it.

But Nero wanted answers. More than that, Nero wanted to stay. Where there should have been resentment grew more curiosity. Some pity, too.

Dante seemed to improve a little more every day. The color came back to his skin. He was able to get up by himself to shower and shave in his room’s bathroom. His bruises and abrasions faded. The wound in his chest closed more and more. He’d been lucky; it missed several major vessels by a matter of centimeters. Threaded the needle, the surgeon had said.

Soon enough he was strong enough to go home. He insisted that he could go alone, but the staff insisted that he shouldn’t. Even Lady left her room down the hall to come over and scold him. Everyone barraged him with lists of why he shouldn’t go alone, including Nero. It was policy. There was still an active case involving him. V was still out there. Dante was still recovering.

Eventually Dante gave in. Nero volunteered to take him. He didn’t have a car, but he offered to pay for a cab. Dante said he’d pay him back for it. Nero made a mental note to remind him of that.

They chose a Monday; Nero’s day off. Bright and early, because the last two-and-a-half weeks had made them both impatient to leave. Nero felt that he was even more anxious than Dante. He’d brought his backpack again, stuffed with clothes and other essentials. He intended to stay the night, at least, regardless of how much his uncle would complain. 

They stopped to say goodbye to Lady. She would be leaving soon, too. Her speech was finally back to normal. Dante and Lady poked a little fun at each other, because Dante got to leave first. 

Trish still wasn’t awake. The doctors were keeping her in a medically-induced coma so she could heal. Beyond that, they couldn’t learn any more details about her condition. Nero hadn’t seen anyone else come to inquire about her. That was because she didn’t have anyone, Dante told him. Lady vowed to find some way to get at least one of them legally recognized as a caregiver, if they were willing. They both agreed, though Nero suspected Dante had a better chance. 

“Surprised you didn’t have your whole office hauled in here,” Dante teased her.

“Only because they wouldn’t let me,” Lady replied with a laugh.

Nero called for a taxi in the lobby. It arrived shortly enough, pulling up under the awning just outside. They entered the backseat from opposite sides. Nero put his bag on the floor and placed his feet on either side of it. Dante told the driver the address to his office. 

Settling back against the seat, Nero let out a relieved sigh. Next to him, Dante made a similar sort of sound. They sat in silence for a bit while the cab drove away from the hospital.

The music on the car radio was some pop number, though the volume was low. Nero didn’t mind it, but he’d prefer to listen to his own favored station. Instead of asking the driver to change it, he decided to pull out his radio and headphones.

“Guess your dad’s not the only one into antiques,” Dante commented with a smirk.

“You have a jukebox _ and _ a rotary phone,” Nero reminded him.

“You saying I’m old?”

“If it quacks like a duck,” Nero replied, smiling, “A lame, elderly duck.”

Dante laughed. That made Nero feel good. It always did. A sense of pride whirled warmly inside him.

It was definitely a shorter ride than the bus. Nero only got through about four songs and one very annoying commercial break by the time the taxi dropped them off. He paid the driver and added a decent tip on top. He made sure to tell the driver to keep the tip, loudly, so Dante could hear it. Dante didn’t say anything but he did chuckle and shake his head as he exited. That was enough confirmation. Nero made sure to grab his backpack, then followed Dante up to the door. Unlocking it, Dante pushed the door and they both walked inside. 

The office was in the same disarray Nero remembered. Down to the stains of his own blood trailing around the desk and floor. He instinctively rubbed at his abdomen, over his scar. 

“Jesus, kid…” Dante muttered as he looked around at the mess on his carpet, “Think you can go one day without bleeding on all my shit?”

It was Nero’s turn to chuckle. “Does that mean you’ll let me stay again?”

“I’m in no shape to kick your ass, so…” Dante acquiesced, picking up a liquor bottle from a bookshelf.

Nero’s smile fell a little. He watched Dante swirl the inch or so of liquid at the bottom of the bottle. He was going to drink it. And probably drink some more, if he had more whiskey laying around. It was a breach of personal lines, but Nero didn’t want him to do it.

“Probably shouldn’t do that,” Nero said as Dante unscrewed the top.

“Yeah, probably not,” Dante replied before he knocked back one huge gulp.

A heavy sigh fell out of Nero’s mouth. It seemed Dante would do whatever he wanted to do. Nero thought about just going upstairs and leaving Dante to his own devices. But the point of taking him home was to keep him safe, wasn’t it?

So Nero crossed the room over to Dante. He grabbed the bottle and ripped it out of Dante’s hand, even though there wasn’t much liquid left. Dante shot him a half-surprised, half-annoyed look. Nero set the bottle down firmly on the desk. Then he grabbed the front of Dante’s shirt and started pulling him toward the stairs.

“The hell you think you’re doing?” Dante sputtered.

“Keeping you from going back to the hospital, asshole.” Nero grumbled.

Dante gave some resistance, but not enough to keep Nero from tugging him along. When they reached the staircase Nero let go then circled around behind Dante. Placing his hands flat against his uncle’s back, he gave a little pressure. Just a little shove for “encouragement”.

“Alright, alright! I’m going!” Dante shouted and started stomping up the stairs. 

Nero waited until he got about halfway up before he let his hands drop. Following Dante the rest of the way to the loft, Nero dropped his backpack on the sofa. Even though it was daytime, the expansive room was pretty dark. Nero clicked on a lamp next to the sofa, then he headed for the windows to open the blinds. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a bitch?” Dante asked as he chucked off his coat and then flopped himself on the sofa next to Nero’s bag.

“Sure!” Nero replied with a grin, recalling Nico’s teasing.

Now that the room was bathed in light, the real extent of Dante’s disorganization could be seen. Nero itched to make himself useful. He looked toward Dante.

“Mind if I clean this shithole up a little?”

Dante waved a hand at him. “Knock yourself out. Not literally this time.”

Then Dante turned on the TV, determinedly not offering to help Nero at all. That was fine, really. Nero felt the need to work with his hands. So he put his headphones back over his ears, turned up the radio in his jacket pocket, and set to work.

Starting with the dining table, Nero stacked the papers and pieces of mail together and set them neatly to one side. He thought the table could use some dusting, but wasn’t sure if Dante even had anything to clean it with.

He went into the kitchen and checked under the sink. There were a few bottles of cleaners; one for windows, one for unclogging drains, and one for mold and mildew. Nero thought maybe he should pick up some more household cleaning supplies, but for the moment he resorted to grabbing a couple of paper towels off the roll on the counter. He wet one down, then went back to wiping the table and drying it with another.

After that, Nero returned to the kitchen. There were a few dishes in the sink, including the glasses he’d used. He rolled up his sleeves and started washing with a sponge and soap he found near the faucet. The repetition combined with the music made him zone out a little. So when he felt something tap on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He nearly dropped the glass he was holding too. Looking over his shoulder, Nero saw Dante standing behind and to the side of him. 

“Don’t do that! Jeeze…” Nero reached up and pulled his headphones down around his neck. “What do you want?”

“I’m bored,” Dante shrugged. “Need help?”

“Sure you ask when I’m almost done,” Nero huffed, a little surprised at the offer.

“So I’ll dry something,” Dante said, reaching for the paper towel roll.

It was unexpected, but Nero wasn’t going to refuse. In fact, he found the action nice. It was decidedly unselfish. Nero felt a small ticklish sensation in his throat that he chalked up to further surprise.

Dante started taking the dishes off the small red drying rack next to the sink, drying them, then putting them away in the cabinet. Nero’s headphones still played music around his neck. He didn’t bother turning the radio off, since his hands were wet. Plus the sound filled the silence. Dante must have turned off the TV.

Nero thought it would probably be a good time to ask some of those questions he had.

“So,” Nero spoke up, “It’s later.”

“Huh?” Dante responded, confused.

“Back when those secret agent guys were talking to you,” Nero continued, “You said Urizen hadn’t been anonymous enough about putting me up for adoption. And you said we’d talk about it later. Well, it’s later now, right?”

“Yeah,” Dante said after a pause. “I guess you’re right.”

“So what did you mean?”

“I guess Vergil never told you how he managed to find you, huh?”

Nero shook his head. “I didn’t really ask, either. I just assumed, I dunno, agencies, paperwork… The usual ways kids got found or adopted.”

“There’s nothing “usual” about this family.”

“Yeah, I get that. Stop stalling.”

Dante gave a small laugh. “Right. Well, truth is he asked me to find you. Benefits of having a detective for a brother, y’know.”

“Why’d he wait so long?” Nero asked with an unintended edge to his voice.

“That…” Dante clicked his tongue, hesitating, “That’s because he didn’t know you existed, ‘til I told him.”

Nero glanced at him, confused. “You waited that long?”

“I did.” Dante set down the towel he’d been using, “I was trying to hold on to him, even then, I guess.”

Nero looked back down at his soapy hands. The washing was over, but he couldn’t force himself away from the sink. He was too caught up in his thoughts.

“Dad said you wanted to keep him for yourself,” Nero commented.

“That’s one way to put it,” Dante’s chuckle came bitterly, not unlike the one Vergil had given when Nero suggested his mother and Dante had some sort of affair.

Nero’s pulse felt heavier. “Dante, were you in love with your brother?”

Dante slammed his hands down on the edge of the counter. His head hung low. He made some noise, some strangled and breathless thing caught between a laugh and a cry.

“It’s pretty fucked up, huh?” Dante said lowly, “I did all that for him… No,” He shook his head violently then corrected himself, “I did it all for me. For what I wanted. I got her killed, just ‘cause I hated that he loved her so damn much. I knew if he found out she was pregnant that’d be it. I wouldn’t stand a chance. But I _ never _ had one to begin with. He’d never think of me like he did her.”

Nero felt his stomach turning. Time seemed to go still. The longer Dante talked the more dizzy Nero felt. This was far beyond anything he’d imagined.

“I wanted him so much I ruined him. Ruined her. You and V, too.”

“And yourself,” Nero added, weakly.

“I should’ve just been happy being his brother,” Dante continued, “I wish I still was.”

Nero watched Dante push himself away from the counter. Nero turned to watch him, pulling his hands -still wet- from the sink. Dante glanced at him and Nero could see the angry red dampness in his eyes. Nero felt his muscles go tense, squeezing the air out of him. He felt like he was going to shake apart from the sorrow and rage and confusion battling inside him. Looking away, Dante started walking off.

“So there it is,” Dante said as he stepped away, “Now you know why your dad hates me so much. And why he wants you to stay the fuck away from me.”

There was so much Nero wanted to say. Dante didn’t have the right to just walk away after admitting all that. Nero rushed forward and seized Dante by the back of his shirt, twisting his fingers in it to keep hold with his wet hand. Dante stopped. From behind, Nero could see him look up at the ceiling.

“You can’t just fucking walk away,” Nero seethed, “You don’t get to decide when this conversation is over, asshole.”

“You’re stretching out my shirt,” Dante said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nero wouldn’t let Dante try to joke himself out of this, “I have more questions, and you’re gonna answer them. So stop being a bitch about this, and sit down.”

Then Nero let go. At first, Dante didn’t move. Then he sighed and his shoulders fell a little. He started walking and Nero watched. He half-expected Dante to continue heading for the stairs, but instead he turned and went to the sofa. Once Dante sat down, Nero followed and joined him, moving his backpack onto the floor so he could sit on that side.

“Are you still in love with my dad?” Nero asked pointedly after he’d settled.

Dante kept staring forward at the unpowered TV screen. “No.”

“Okay,” Nero hadn’t expected such a simple reply, “But you still love him as a brother?”

“I’d like to, but that’s not gonna happen,” Dante answered, resting his elbow on the armrest and then resting his head against his hand.

It really seemed like Dante thought Vergil would hate him forever. Nero didn’t know enough to argue. So he switched to another line of questions instead.

“How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t like nobody knew your mom was pregnant.” Dante began, “They got together and got married pretty fast. She was showing a lot by then. Most people in our ward knew she wasn’t having his kid. So after you were born and she disappeared, Urizen made up this sob story that he _just couldn’t handle raising another man’s baby,_” Dante said this in a mockingly annoying voice, “And then he said he handed you over to family services.”

“But he didn’t give them his name,” Nero said.

Dante nodded. “Policy is to try and get information, but it’s not a legal requirement for newborns that get dumped off.”

“What about my name?” Nero asked.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s what your mom called you. Maybe it’s something he made up. Maybe the agency named you. I didn’t know it ‘til I tracked you down. Which was even more complicated since they’d shipped you around so much.”

As the conversation went on the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. Nero still felt a simmering mix of emotions inside him, but it became easier to tamp it down for the sake of getting answers. Dante no longer seemed resistant, either. Maybe finally getting to talk about this stuff openly was cathartic for him.

Nero knew he shouldn’t care about how Dante felt about it. But still, even knowing what he did, that sense of pity lingered. The fact that he couldn’t seem to _ not _ care was more uncomfortable than anything.

“How did you track me if you didn’t know who or where I was?”

“Have you looked in a mirror?” Dante glanced at Nero with a smile.

“My hair,” Nero gave a soft sort of laugh at his own lack of insight.

“If you couldn't tell, it's a pretty dominant trait. So I figured that was the best shot at getting a positive ID. I knew you had to still be in the county, at least. It was just a matter of pulling connections and doing some favors until someone spotted you. After that, I told Verge where you were, and that was that.”

“You think Urizen knew? That you found me, I mean.” Nero shifted a little, sitting more comfortably.

“Who knows? Maybe? There’s still a lot of loose ends dangling around here.”

“Like what happened to your files?” Nero offered.

“Or why your brother was stalking me.” 

Nero bristled a little, still uneasy about the revelations about V. “That’s still… weird. I have a brother…”

“Out of all the shit that little fucker caused? _ That’s _ the weirdest part?”

“It’s just- It doesn’t feel like it’s right? How he talked to me? The way he acted around me? It’s just weird and creepy. At least with dad I felt some kind of connection. And even with you, too.”

“A connection, huh?” Dante laughed.

“Yeah? What’s so funny about that?” Nero narrowed his eyes at Dante.

“Nothing, it’s just surprising I guess.” Dante shrugged. “I expect that’s changed though, with all of this bullshit.”

“What?”

“That connection you felt with me.”

That made Nero pause. He hadn’t really considered how things would change between them, now that Dante had started revealing his secrets. It should have changed, right? Nero definitely felt upset. There was still a lot for him to process. It would certainly take him a while to reconcile his history - and the role Dante played in it.

But he still felt a connection. Different from the one that started when he first delivered Dante’s pizza that night, sure. Still, there was something that was holding him there. Something that kept him wanting to talk instead of leave. Nero felt a small flutter in his stomach as he acknowledged that - whatever state this connection was in - it felt stronger rather than weakened.

Maybe Dante wasn’t the only fucked up one.

Nero shook his head and the headphones around his neck rattled. They were still playing music, he realized. He reached into his pocket and shut the radio off. The room was quieter now. So quiet Nero thought he could hear his own heart thrumming anxiously in his chest.

“Just one more question, for now,” Nero spoke slowly because he wanted to make sure he was clear, “Even though all of this happened, you know it’s not your fault that my mom died, right?”

Dante stared at Nero. Nero could see the change in his demeanor; how the tension returned and how his eyes widened a little. His mouth hung open like he wanted to say something but he didn’t.

“You didn’t put her in there, Urizen did.” Nero continued, shifting a little closer down the sofa to try and make sure Dante saw his honesty. “You didn’t know that’s how it would end up. You can blame yourself for lying to her and taking her away from my dad. And yeah, maybe even getting her together with Urizen. But you can’t take responsibility for her murder. Or what happened to me and V.”

Dante stayed still for a long stretch after Nero stopped speaking. Then he let out a heavy and shaking breath. Nero watched Dante close his eyes and grimace like he was fighting off a pain that probably wasn’t physical.

“Oh, I need a drink.” Dante finally said.

Nero gave an apologetic sort of smile, even though Dante couldn’t see it. 

“How about we watch a movie instead?”


	14. Chapter 14

Hands. Desiccated. Decayed. Grabbing and twisting and tearing. Ripping away at the cloth to sink into skin. Bones digging to bone. Pulling tendons like bloodied rope until the tension is too much and it snaps. He throws himself against the stone lid to get away, but it doesn’t move. Grabbing and grabbing. Pulling down and down. Her skin crumbles and flakes away. Dust in his lungs. Bare flesh-less ribs. His skin dangles in ribbons. He’s breathing too much. Not enough. 

Dante should have woke up screaming but he didn’t. He didn’t jolt up sitting and shrieking. He simply opened his eyes and saw his own TV still playing dumb black-and-white movies. His breath was irregular and his heart was racing, but otherwise there was a quiet calmness to greet him. After a minute or so his breathing and heartbeat returned to normal.

It wasn’t the first nightmare he’d had. It likely wouldn’t be the last.

Dante wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. It was sometime after Nero pointed out the giant shaggy monster on the TV clearly had a zipper running down its back. Over the hours Dante slid more and more into a lying position on the sofa, going as far as tucking his legs and feet up on the cushions. He’d tried to leave Nero some sitting room. By the time he woke up he found Nero was laying down asleep too, with his own legs laying over Dante’s. Nero had deliberately used him as a footrest. Brat.

Why was Nero still there? Dante couldn’t figure that out. It weighed on him, even with the distraction of watching movies. Nero should have wanted to leave. He should have been disgusted with Dante. Hadn’t he been clear? Didn’t Nero understand the sickening sort of obsession that made Dante destroy his family?

Nobody could be that forgiving. 

At the other end of the sofa, Nero slumbered calmly. Dante could see the placidity in his expression with the orangey sunset light coming through the open blinds. Some broad on the TV was screaming about some sort of monster, but the noise apparently wasn’t enough to make Nero stir. The last time Dante saw his nephew look so peaceful was the last time Nero fell asleep there, too. 

Dante didn’t want to wake him. The kid deserved some rest. But Dante also had to use the bathroom. Plus the close and casual way they were laying was starting to make him feel awkward.

Slowly, Dante disentangled himself from under Nero’s legs. Nero made an annoyed noise and shifted over onto his side, but then seemed to go back to sleep. Satisfied, Dante stood up and stretched out his limbs. He still smelled like the hospital and its weird unbranded soap. Might as well take a shower, he figured.

He tried to be quiet as he grabbed his clothes from the small dresser at the foot of his bed. Dante liked to think he was pretty capable at being stealthy. He was extra careful about closing the bathroom door, operating the shower, and even flushing the toilet. So it was all the more a personal disappointment when he exited and saw Nero was sitting up awake. 

“Morning,” Nero yawned.

“It’s like,” Dante glanced at the clock on his microwave, “Six PM-ish.”

“So good _ evening _ then,” Nero corrected.

“Did I wake you up?” Dante asked as he took the towel wrapped around his shoulders and tried to dry his still-damp hair.

He’d put on some jeans and a long-sleeve shirt since the loft was cool. His feet were bare, though. The floor was cold.

“Yeah,” Nero replied and stretched his arms up high above his head, ”It’s okay though. I’m hungry.”

Dante glanced around his kitchen again. He knew he didn’t have a whole lot to make for dinner, not for two people anyway. Unless Nero wanted to make canned soup or bread with mustard, the choices were slim.

“Could order a pizza?” Dante said, then gave a slight grin when Nero rolled his eyes.

“Sure, but let’s go pick it up instead.” 

“Why? You guys deliver!”

“It’s literally right around the corner.” Nero pointed out.

Nero stood up and started heading toward the bathroom. He paused, though, right next to Dante. Dante felt Nero’s hand pat him twice on the abdomen.

“‘Sides, the exercise will be good for you,” Nero said with a snide little smile before he continued on to the bathroom.

Dante rubbed his stomach where Nero had pat him. What the hell?... Wait a minute…

“What’re you trying to say?!” Dante shouted at his nephew.

“It’s kinda embarrassing to get a dad-bod when you don’t have any kids!” Nero yelled back, laughed, and then shut the bathroom door.

“Shitlord…” Dante mumbled then dried his hair more furiously.

***

The walk to the pizza place was short, Dante could admit that. But it was also noisy with all the traffic backed up with people trying to get home. The sidewalk was pretty busy too. Not a throng of people, but enough for them to pass a little too close. All these men and women in their nice work clothes, worrying only about where they were going and not whoever stood in their way. 

It was also breezy; a chilly wind that made Dante feel like he should have layered on more than just his shirt and duster. He wanted to bring his hat, but Nero refused to be seen in public with him wearing it. Maybe he should have worn it anyway. Then they could have ordered delivery instead. 

He was probably getting a little too complacent with letting Nero boss him around.

Nero had brought that little radio and had his headphones on, though he left one ear uncovered. Whenever the kid got himself a car he’d probably always have the radio blasting the same music. Dante had been the same way, really, when he was younger. He probably _ would _ like whatever angry young adult songs Nero did too, if he was that age. 

Dante realized that Nero had a justifiable air of defiance and rage, but he was also kind and thoughtful. He didn’t like getting pushed around, but he’d push others when he thought it was deserved. Whatever was driving him to push Dante right now was probably perfectly reasonable in his head. Logically, he should have wanted nothing to do with Dante. He had every reason to hate him. But Nero went out of his way to go against what should have been the most natural course.

It made Dante wonder how Nero’s personality ended up that way. He wanted to dig around inside Nero’s brain. Take him apart. See what made him tick.

Dante had to tell himself to reel back that train of thought. It was a slippery road to take.

“What?” Nero asked suddenly, glancing over at Dante as they walked. “Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not staring, I’m just _ looking _ at you,” Dante replied, recognizing that yes, he had probably been watching Nero a little too much as they walked.

“Why?”

“Why not?” Dante gave an inquisitive expression, “You don’t like me looking at you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Nero directed his eyes forward again. “Weirdo.”

“I think it’s weird you’re all defensive about it.”

“I’m not defensive.”

“You sound _ pretty defensive _.”

“Y’know what?” Nero balled his right hand into a fist and then socked it hard into Dante’s bicep. “Stare at that, instead.”

“Ow!” Dante exclaimed as he rubbed at his arm, the sore ache sinking deep into his muscle. “Now you’re just being offensive about it!”

“Just shut up already,” Nero grumbled, though he followed up with a smile.

When they arrived at the shop, Nero went in first. Dante followed him in but hung back a little once inside. He hadn’t seen the inside for a while. Having ordered delivery far more often, it was interesting to see the little changes that were made since the last time he’d graced the place with his presence. 

It was always small and independent operation, not a franchise. The walls were still painted black and red, though there were a lot more neon beer signs and they’d installed a better stereo. The floor was faux-wood laminate now instead of bare concrete. The tables and chairs were the same cheap black metal ones he remembered. Near the back of the room was the order counter, still short in length and kind of cluttered but the menu that hung behind it had expanded.

Dante watched Nero walk up to the counter and greet that girl behind it. Her name was Nico, right? She was tearing pieces off some sort of bready appetizer and shoving them in her mouth. Nero reached across the counter to tear off some for himself too, even though she yelled at him and slapped at his hand.

Deciding to let those two chat, Dante took a seat at a table near the front of the shop. The windows were large, nearly floor-to-ceiling. It gave him a good view of the parking lot and beyond. There were a few scattered trees along the sidewalk. All the leaves were shades of yellow and orange. When the wind picked up some would snap off and flutter away. Right, it was October now. It had been September when he woke up in the hospital.

A motorcycle pulled into the parking lot. It was an older model, like a re-purposed army type from god-knows-when. There was even a sidecar, though that appeared to be customized as a travel cage for a pet. Dante couldn’t see any animal in it at the moment. The woman operating it pulled into a space up front. She was wearing a knee-length yellow sundress with a flowery print on it. Under that she wore jeans and boots, over it was a brown leather half-jacket. She pulled her white helmet off and shook out her long brown hair. Dante recognized the thermal bag she unstrapped from the back as the one all the shop’s delivery people carried.

“Kyrie!” Nico shouted in greeting as she entered.

The girl - and she did look young enough to be called that by Dante’s standards - grinned warmly and walked up to the counter. She joined the conversation with Nico and Nero. Nero seemed fairly familiar with her. Dante caught part of the apology Nero offered her for having to take over his shifts. 

For the most part, Dante just waited, absently rubbing at the bruise that was undoubtedly forming on his arm. Nero chatted with the girls a little while longer. He got a couple of drinks. Then he turned and headed over to Dante’s table, taking a seat across from his uncle.

“It’s gonna be a few minutes,” Nero explained as he set a cup and straw in front of Dante and one on his own side of the table. 

“We’re eating here?” Dante asked, peering into his cup at the dark bubbly cola.

“Yeah? Might as well since we walked here.” Nero replied.

Dante watched Nero fiddle with the paper wrapper around his straw. He noticed how evenly trimmed and clean Nero’s nails were. Though Nero liked to dress kind of scruffy - holes in his shirts and frayed edges on his jacket sleeves - he actually kept himself nicely maintained. Dante wondered if he’d learned good habits through family services, or if it was something Vergil had demanded. Probably the former.

“You’re doing it again,” Nero said as he plopped his straw in his cup.

“What?” Dante asked genuinely.

“Staring...” Nero answered then took a sip of his soda. “See something you like?”

Oh kid, watch yourself, Dante thought but he didn’t say it out loud. Nero was just being the cocky punk he always tried to be, even knowing Dante for what he was. That kind of naivety was admirable, but it could also get you in trouble.

Dante shouldn’t have thought about that kind of _ trouble _ at all.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, grumbling at himself.

“Hey, you okay?” Nero asked.

Not really.

“You’re taking this all a little too easy, don’t you think?” Dante asked seriously, leveling his eyes on Nero’s.

Nero didn’t reply right away. Instead, he kept focused on Dante’s gaze for a moment. Then he looked down at his own hands. They encircled the bottom of his cup. Dante watched the little drops of condensation roll onto Nero’s skin.

“I know,” Nero finally said, “You say that like I’m doing it wrong.”

“I’m surprised by how you’re handling it,” Dante responded, “I half-expected you to deck me out cold. I definitely expected you to wanna leave.”

“Honestly? I expected me to do that, too.” Nero chuckled a little.

“So, why didn’t you?” Dante wanted to know. 

He felt a need to understand. There was so little he understood about Nero, and that made it hard to compartmentalize him anywhere. There had to be a boundary line. For once, Dante felt desperate to know where it lay.

“You just got outta the hospital. I wasn’t gonna kick your ass that soon.” Nero joked.

“You punched me on the way here,” Dante reminded him.

“Yeah, in the _ arm _. That’s nothing.” Nero shrugged and took another drink of his soda.

“Okay, but why didn’t you leave?” Dante pushed, “Why’d you stay? Why are we sitting here like everything’s fine when you know damn well it’s not?”

“‘Cause I want it to be, I guess?” Nero met Dante’s eyes again, a mix of determination and hope there that tugged at Dante’s heartstrings more than should be allowed. “I just wanna work this shit out. And I wanna do that with you. Is that so bad?”

Probably, Dante thought, it was probably very bad. For both of them.

The girl named Kyrie brought the pizza over and set it down on the table between them. She also gave them a couple of plates and silverware, in case they were the kind of _ blasphemers _ who ate pizza with a knife and fork. She smiled kindly and told them to enjoy their dinner, then headed back to the front counter to pick up her refilled thermal bag. 

They ate mostly in silence. A subdued sort of mood, swaying back and forth, undefinably between awkward yet comfortable. Dante caught himself looking at Nero too many times, watching how his nephew ate or drank or stared out the window as night settled over the world - trying to put together a puzzle in front of him, not knowing what it would look like when it was finished. If Nero noticed, he didn’t berate Dante for staring anymore. 

Nero paid for everything. Maybe he got a discount. He didn’t tell Dante that he’d owe him, but Dante hoped he’d remember to pay him back anyway. 

The walk back to the office was calm, too. The traffic and crowds were thinned out. Dante could hear Nero’s music more clearly through his headphones and he decided that it wasn’t so bad. Maybe he would give that station a try himself. 

They went upstairs. Nero grabbed his backpack and excused himself to the bathroom. Dante spent some time shrugging out of his jacket and looking around his loft. Nero had made it look nicer, even with just a little effort. It made the downstairs office seem so much more filthy. Dante hadn’t felt ashamed of the way he kept things, but having it straightened up could be a nice change, too. 

When Nero returned he was wearing different clothes. A different pair of pants with different holes on the legs and a loose t-shirt. He invited himself to stretch out on the sofa and flip through the channels on the TV. Still so comfortable existing in Dante’s space. It was obvious he still didn’t intend to leave.

Dante wasn’t going to ask him to, though he should have. He should have done a lot of things, but what he chose to do was join Nero; stretching out and watching TV and feeling too comfortable and pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

There was nothing fine about the way Nero so easily invaded Dante’s life. How he took over the sofa so much that his legs ended up dangling over Dante’s again. How he mindlessly stretched himself out and how Dante watched as his tee rode up on his hips and stomach. That when Dante could see that new pink scar under his bellybutton, he was filled with the itch to touch it and apologize and want to soothe it until it would disappear. There was nothing fine about the way his pulse hitched when he thought about doing that.

Dante should have made Nero leave, because being so close to his bright and beautiful nephew was a terrible and sickening temptation. Dante was never good at resisting temptation. For Nero’s sake, he would have to learn.


	15. Chapter 15

Nero honestly meant it as a joke. He knew when it was halfway out of his mouth it was bad; inappropriate in a way _ even he _ wouldn’t usually be. It just shot from his brain to his tongue. If he’d said it to anybody else it would have been fine.

_ See something you like? _

The way Dante reacted said it all, really. It was awkward. Embarrassing. Nero worried that he had made things uncomfortable. He’d crossed a line. He probably should have regretted it more than he did. But it was a door-opener to a conversation they needed to have.

It was also, admittedly, a little bit amusing.

It was fun to fluster Dante. His uncle always seemed ready to joke at Nero’s expense. Nero wouldn’t forget how riled up he’d felt after Dante made that pregnancy joke in the bar. Nero also wasn’t beyond acts of petty vengeance. Even if he didn’t mean to imply something so deeply sordid, he could appreciate the way it made Dante cringe. After all of this bullshit, didn’t Nero deserve to turn the tables occasionally?

That night was quiet after they got back to Dante’s place. Nero didn’t mind laying around. If Dante minded, he didn’t say anything, even as Nero imposed himself quite literally. He’d expected Dante to tell him to move his legs but he didn’t. Dante even let his hand rest on Nero’s knee as Nero used his lap as a footrest. That kind of closeness was a good sign, wasn’t it?

Later that night, Dante decided to go to bed. Nero stayed up a little later - being used to working late nights again - until he fell asleep on the sofa. He woke up before sunrise feeling cold. He hadn’t asked Dante if he had any extra blankets, though there was enough layering on the bed to suggest he had several piled there. He’d woken up with one draped over him before. Nero decided Dante probably wouldn’t miss one.

Walking over to the bed, Nero tried to grab the loosest-appearing blanket off the top. He slid it slowly across the bed, off of Dante’s slumbering form. Dante made a grunting noise, so Nero paused, thinking the motion was what disturbed his uncle. But Dante made another noise and shifted around. 

With a huff, Nero pulled the blanket the rest of the way off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. It really didn’t seem to make a difference in the way Dante whined and flailed weakly in his sleep. Recalling the previous time they slept together on the couch, Nero remembered Dante had kicked and grunted a little then as well. He’d thought maybe Dante was just a restless sleeper. Maybe that wasn’t the case.

Frowning a little, Nero placed one knee on the bed so he could lean over and get a better look at Dante. His uncle’s face was all scrunched up; brow furrowed and mouth grimacing. Nero carefully laid one hand on Dante’s forehead, using the other to keep the blanket wrapped around him. Dante’s skin felt clammy. A nightmare, probably.

“Hey, chill out,” Nero muttered awkwardly, not wanting to wake Dante up but also wanting to make him relax, “It’s okay.”

Dante lifted his head a little, pushing into Nero’s hand. Nero thought maybe Dante liked it or found some comfort in it. That made Nero’s heartbeat feel heavier; an emotion close to embarrassment but a little warmer than that. Nero let his hand slide a little, his fingers petting through Dante’s hair. It was the kind of affectionate gesture Nero hadn’t really experienced, but he’d seen it on TV and movies. And it seemed to work. Dante’s face relaxed and he stopped shifting around.

Deciding it was okay to leave, Nero moved to crawl off the bed. Then came the arm encircling his waist, pulling him back. Nero felt his heart race in panic as Dante’s other arm wrapped around behind him.

“Hey!” Nero shouted and squirmed, letting go of the blanket he’d stolen and letting it fall off his back.

Dante just squeezed tighter and pressed the side of his head against Nero’s stomach. He effectively pinned Nero into a half-sitting position, where Nero’s back was pressed against the pillows and headboard. Nero’s face went completely hot. This wasn’t the kind of “good closeness”. This was too close. Way too close for comfort.

“Dante! Hey!” Nero shouted again, now shoving his hands on the arm wrapped around his front. “Wake up, you old bastard!”

Dante just clenched tighter and mumbled something that Nero couldn’t quite understand. How was he so strong in his sleep? Nero writhed more to get away. He felt too hot and his pulse was out of control. It was hard to tell if he was angry or humiliated or what; all he thought of was how he needed to get away. 

Burying his face tighter against Nero’s stomach, Dante mumbled again. This time Nero heard it:

“Stop it, Vergil.”

Nero went still that instant. Formerly racing, his heart plummeted, diving hard and spectacularly. All of that buzzing high emotion coalesced into a little ball that went crashing deep into his guts.

He hated this.

All at once, Nero didn’t care that Dante was clinging to him anymore. That had passed fully to be replaced with a slower and darker feeling. Nero hated that Dante was holding him like that while thinking of his brother. He hated the implication that this position wasn’t unfamiliar for Dante; that it was a vivid enough memory for his brain to assume the person in his arms could only be Vergil.

Nero settled back with a sigh. He no longer felt like fighting Dante off anymore. He felt annoyed. He felt sad. Offended. Hurt. 

Jealous.

He lifted his hand and set it back on the top of Dante’s head, threading his fingers through long silvery hair.

“If you’re gonna snuggle me in your sleep at least say _ my _ name, jackass,” Nero grumbled.

But Dante stayed quiet and still.

***

Nero did manage to peel himself away from Dante by morning when his uncle’s grip loosened and he’d rolled over enough. Tired and weary, he crawled out of the bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep much, spending most of the night looking out the windows and thinking things he shouldn’t have thought about. The intensity of his emotions had waned, whittled down to just a small gnarled pit.

It wasn’t really Dante’s fault; Nero had invaded his space. Nero couldn’t hold what happened against him. Nero had been upset, but in the light of day he was mostly confused. Above all else, he _ was _ glad he managed to put an end to Dante’s bad dream. He just wished Dante had thought about him instead of his father. 

That was a pretty messed up wish to have, wasn’t it?

Pushing down that thought, Nero went about getting ready for the day. He had some stuff to do before work. He wanted to wash his clothes and he debated taking his meager selection to the laundromat. Dante already had a washer and dryer. Maybe if he did Dante’s laundry as well the older man wouldn’t mind him using it. Nero made the choice to sort and wash their clothes in the loft. 

Dante woke up as Nero was chucking the first load in the wash. He yawned and stretched and scratched at his facial stubble. He looked a little bewildered at first, but he didn’t complain about Nero fiddling with his appliances. Nero found some amusement in watching the way Dante stumbled around in the morning, like a zombie squinting against the sun.

Nero made plain toast for a late breakfast. He resolved to pick up some goddamn groceries on his way home from work. Maybe he’d grab the food he had back in his motel room, too. 

He finished the laundry in time for work. Not sure where Dante put his clothes, Nero just folded them and left them on top of the dresser. Dante had spent most of the day downstairs. Nero chose not to pry. His uncle did come back up to use the bathroom, and then put his clothes away. Dante thanked him for it and that made Nero feel a warm buzz of appreciation which made him smile. 

Picking on Dante was fun, but taking care of him was rewarding. It made Nero feel proud; useful in a way he hadn’t felt when his father gave him chores, or when he’d been given tasks in the group homes. Dante’s look of wonderment at the fact that Nero was doing these things for him made it all the more entertaining. Nero liked to be surprising.

When it was almost time to go, Nero changed into his work uniform. He’d left it folded on top of the dryer, so that’s where he decided to dress. He only realized the awkwardness of that idea when he caught sight of Dante _ staring _ at him as he pulled on his black pants. Their eyes met and Nero felt his pulse quicken. 

“Really oughta work on your situational awareness, kid,” Dante commented.

“You oughta work on not _ staring _ at me all the time, old man,” Nero huffed back.

He moved faster to do up his fly then put on his shirt, decidedly turning his back to Dante while he did. Dante was already stomping back downstairs, anyway. Nero took a moment to rub his hands over his face to try and get rid of the heat that was inflaming his cheeks.

***

After work, Nero went to his motel apartment and cleaned out his ancient wood-paneled mini-fridge. There wasn’t a whole lot, but it was going to waste with all the time he spent away. He wondered if he should even renew his weekly rent that Friday. Could he convince Dante that it would be better to just let Nero stay? Was it weird that Nero even thought that was a viable solution?

How long could he stretch the excuse that he was staying for Dante’s benefit instead of his own selfish wants?

***

Dante complained about the groceries. Both because Nero had paid for them and also for the selection Nero picked out. Nero told him if he didn’t like it he could always come along on the next shopping trip. Dante didn’t seem phased by the implication that there would be another trip in the future.

***

Days melded into days. Friday came and passed. Nero did pay his rent, if only because he hadn’t asked Dante if he could move in. The idea made him more nervous than he thought it would. Mostly because being in close quarters with Dante was becoming more perilous. 

Not because they argued or anything - though _ they did _ in that playfully antagonizing way they always did. It was perilous because the longer Nero stayed around, the harder it was to justify the teasing as just petty revenge or their deeper conversations as just working out the past. Because Nero felt so pleased when he did something to make Dante laugh or fluster or thank him - genuinely - for taking care of the things Dante didn’t. Because when Nero caught Dante looking at him he didn’t point it out because he didn’t want Dante to stop.

Because Nero wanted Dante to reach for _ him _ in his nightmares, not Vergil.

It was wrong. It was bad. It was getting worse.

***

Nero came home one day to find the office no longer in a state of disarray. The files and papers were all put away. Books were all aligned in their shelves. The rug that Nero had tried to scrub the stains from had been rolled up and tossed out. Near the door was a box full of bottles, some empty and some with whiskey, but none in a state different than that first day back from the hospital.

Dante walked over with the last one and set it in the box. Then he smiled at Nero and gave a sort of shrug. He hadn’t been drinking. Not even when Nero was away. 

Nero felt a warm sensation swell in his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dante. He hugged him so tight that Dante made a strangled sort of noise like Nero was crushing the air out of him. But Nero couldn’t stop. He felt so happy and proud, because Dante had, for once, done something to take care of himself.

After some hesitation, Dante enfolded his arms around Nero as well. It wasn’t as bruising as Nero’s hug, but it was solid. Warm. Nero thought he didn’t want to let go, even though his limbs and chest tingled wildly from the closeness. He felt like he would vibrate apart. That the invisible heat that coursed over his skin would melt him down.

“I figured I got enough things tryin’ to kill me these days,” Dante said, his voice soft but so close to Nero’s ear it gave him involuntary goosebumps.

Nero laughed and loosened his arms so he could look at Dante. He wanted to joke back, like always. But he couldn’t. Not with Dante’s mouth so close to his.

He could feel Dante’s breath against his lips.

That invisible heat coiled inside him, deep and low.

Dante pulled away. The emptiness made Nero ache. He watched Dante stoop to grab the box of bottles and then exit through the front door, leaving Nero behind with his quaking heart and terrible thoughts.

***

More and more days crawled by. Another Friday approached. Nero resolved that this would be the week he’d ask. He was paying rent for a place he hadn’t even stepped inside since the last time he paid. That was a good excuse. It was the one he would use, because the truth that he was so utterly, devastatingly in love with his own uncle was a confession his tongue couldn’t bear the weight of.

It _ was _ a good excuse. But not good enough.

Dante said “No.”

“Why not?!” Nero shouted and his voice echoed off the walls of the loft. “I’m practically living here anyway!”

“Yeah, and isn’t it kinda time you stopped?” Dante replied, leaning so casually back against the kitchen counter, “I’m fine now. Things are back to normal. You don’t have to keep hanging around for my sake.”

“What if I want to?” Nero argued back. “You ever think that maybe I just _ like _ hanging out with you?”

He sounded so stupid and desperate. But he felt stupid and desperate. He wasn’t going to let Dante just reject him out of hand just like that. There was no way Dante could just think Nero was still around out of pity. Hadn’t he proven that wasn’t the case? 

“So we can still hang out or whatever,” Dante pointed out, “We don’t have to live together to do that.”

“No, give me a better reason!” Nero shouted again, “Tell me the _ actual _ reason you don’t want me here!”

Nero’s hands clenched tight at his sides. His teeth ground together. It was better to choose anger over the alternative threatening to break his ribcage and burn his eyes.

“It’s my place? I have the right to decide whether or not I want a roommate, don’t I? I already let you outstay your welcome.”

“Bullshit! If you really thought that you woulda kicked me out already. Why’s it different now just ‘cause I asked to stay?”

“Why are you so hung up on it?” Dante glared, “Why don’t you tell me one good reason why it matters so much if you live here or not? What’s the big fucking difference, Nero?”

Everything, Nero thought. Because he wanted to fill in all those little spaces that Dante tried to keep others away from. He wanted to crawl into that void left by his father and show Dante that it was okay because Nero was there and unlike Vergil he _ wanted _ Dante to keep him. To hold on to him. To want him because Nero had never _ needed _ to be _ wanted _ before he met Dante.

Nero swallowed at the lump in his throat. Then he took a step forward. And then another.

“The difference...” Nero spoke as he walked, trying to keep his voice steady, “I’ll fuckin’ show you.”

Dante took a deep breath like he was getting ready to say something. Nero decided he wouldn’t give him the chance. Reaching forward, Nero grabbed a hold of Dante’s upper arms, his fingers digging into the fabric of that stupid red duster. He tried to pull but Dante tried to lean back and away. So Nero pressed forward instead, chasing until Dante stopped moving. Until Nero could taste Dante’s breath on his tongue.

“I’ll show you…” Nero breathed.

He kissed Dante.


	16. Chapter 16

Nero kissed him. 

Dante’s thoughts slammed to a halt. He froze, throat clenched tight. A moment passed where all he could feel was Nero’s mouth against his own and the warmth that washed through him from that spot. Then the panic shot through his chest, blanketing everything else.

Dante grabbed Nero by the shoulders and pushed, extending his arms out as far as he could to get his nephew away. Their lips broke with a soft smacking noise. Dante kept his head lowered, unwilling to look at whatever expression Nero would make after being forced apart. 

“Woah, woah, woah…” Dante sputtered, shaking his head. “Hold on.”

He could hear Nero’s panting, shaking breath. Maybe he was panicking too. Probably for different reasons than Dante.

This was exactly what he worried would happen. He knew he was letting things go on too long. That he was allowing himself to get too close; crossing that undefined barrier that he knew had to exist even if he wasn’t sure where it was. His affection for Nero had become twisted. Had it been always? Regardless, he knew he’d been ignoring the signs. 

Nero was too good. Too kind. Too trusting of Dante. 

Dante had blamed a lot of things on Nero’s naivety. All those dangerous little acts of affection that could have been well and normal, but for Dante it was an unclear message that crackled electrically over his brain - scrambling his thoughts and intentions. He should have been more resolute. If he didn’t know the boundary, he should have laid it himself. Instead he let it go on, allowing himself to get wrapped up in the sick wonder of falling for his nephew because he thought it was all one-sided anyway.

But it wasn’t one-sided. Nero’s affection was twisted, too. And that’s why Dante knew he had to end it.

“You gotta go,” Dante said, still not looking up.

“What?” Nero’s voice sounded confused.

“Get out, Nero.” Dante replied and released his hands from Nero’s shoulders.

“You’re kicking me out?!” Nero’s voice hitched.

Dante didn’t want to look, but he did. Nero stared back intensely, his pretty eyes now ugly with a red, wet glare. He looked like he was snarling, nostrils flaring and breath seething between his teeth. His cheeks were red and Dante ached to touch them and absorb their warmth. But he forced himself to stay still. 

“I don’t want you here anymore,” Dante lied.

Nero’s eyes went wide then. Dante thought he saw a tear fall from one, but Nero turned so fast he couldn’t be sure. He watched Nero cross the loft to get his backpack, which had by then looked rather deflated. Almost all of Nero’s things laid in various carefully selected places next to Dante’s. He hadn’t really noticed that until Nero started taking them away.

Dante stayed in the kitchen and stayed quiet. He leaned against the counter again, arms crossed and looked at the floor. All he could hear was Nero shuffling around and the occasional zip of a pocket on the pack or a faint sniff of Nero’s nose.

“You sonofabitch. You bastard!” Nero shouted suddenly.

Dante looked up again in time to see Nero rush at him. He tried to move out of the way but Nero managed to grab the front of his shirt. The younger man twisted his fist in the material to hold Dante there. His other fist swung back and Dante prepared himself for the blow that was aimed for his face. But it didn’t land. Nero’s hand just hovered, shaking in the air. Then Dante thought Nero might kiss him again, so he tried to prepare himself for that, too. But Nero just stood there, indecisive, holding Dante by the collar and crying.

The effort it took to keep his own expression schooled into sternness was exhausting, but Dante held it even though the weight of Nero’s expression robbed the air from his lungs. This was for the best. He knew this was the right thing to do for Nero’s sake, and because he’d promised his brother he wouldn’t destroy Nero like he’d destroyed Vergil. 

It was disgusting how much Dante still wanted Nero to forcibly kiss him again anyway.

“Nero,” Dante broke the silence, “Get. Out.”

Nero’s hand loosened and fell away. He turned around and walked toward the staircase. Dante watched all the little key chains on his backpack sway and jangle with his steps. Nero’s hands reached in front of him. It looked like he was wiping his face on the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Then Nero turned once again. Once again he rushed across the room. This time the fist aiming for Dante landed, slamming across Dante’s cheek and against his nose. Pain erupted across his cheekbone. He could feel the river of blood flow almost immediately out of his nostrils. Dante stumbled sideways and bent over, staying bent as Nero shouted at him.

“Fucking asshole!” Nero panted, “I hate you, you piece of shit!”

Dante wasn’t the only liar in the room. 

Nero paused. Dante wouldn’t answer, because he knew Nero wanted him to. Nero was looking for excuses to make Dante fight back. Drawing out his exit, hoping that this time he could make Dante change his mind again. It was a familiar tactic, not just because Nero used it before. Dante had used it, too, to desperately buy more time with his brother.

When a minute ticked by without a reaction, Nero finally left. Dante listened to the sound of Nero’s boots as they fell heavily down the stairs. He heard the door wrench open. He heard Nero yell “FUCK YOU, DANTE!” at the top of his lungs before it slammed shut and rattled all the windows. 

After that, all he could hear was his own breathing and the soft patter of his blood as it fell from his nose and dribbled onto the floor. Dante straightened back up. He felt dizzy. It was hard to tell if that was from how hard Nero hit him, or the rush of emotions he’d been holding the lid on until then. His hand shook a little as he reached for the paper towels on the counter. Ripping off a bundle, he held it against his nose to catch the blood. At least it didn’t feel broken.

He hated how tenuous the air felt, like he was having some sort of out-of-body experience.

The phone started ringing downstairs. Dante tried to ignore it. It could have been a job, but he couldn’t care less. Most people hung up after a while when they realized he wasn’t going to pick up and that he didn’t have an answering machine. (Well, technically he did, the tape was just full, and he hadn’t bothered to erase or replace it in god-knows-how-long.) But the phone kept ringing and ringing. Whoever it was, they were persistent. 

Sighing, Dante trudged his way downstairs. The phone kept shrilling, by then about twenty or so rings had passed. Angry, Dante lifted the receiver and answered.

“What?!”

“About damn time! Don’t scare me like that!” Came Lady’s voice, sounding justifiably miffed. “Are you okay?!”

Not really, Dante thought.

“Yeah,” He said, forcing himself to lose his enraged tone, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I thought something bad happened to you again. Learn to answer your phone!” Lady sounded less angry, too, “Anyway, I have some great news…”

“I could use that,” Dante replied as he turned the paper towels over to a less blood-soaked side and pressed it against his nose again.

“Trish is awake!” Lady exclaimed, “The hospital called to inform me just a few minutes ago.” 

“Hey, that _ is _ pretty great news,” Dante said with a legitimate smile.

“Right? Looks like we won’t have to deal with all that paperwork processing now. Damn court takes for-freaking-ever…” Lady chuckled, “Anyway, I was gonna head over there right now. You and Nero wanna come along?”

Whatever joy Dante felt for the news took a dive. He cleared his throat a little. 

“Sure, I’ll come,” He responded, “But Nero’s not here.”

“Oh? Is he at work?” Lady asked, “We could wait for him to get back.”

“No, he uh, he’s back at his place.”

“Well then, we could pick him up there? I’m sure he’d wanna see her. He was always checking up on her-”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” Dante sighed, furrowing his brow against the stress headache he felt coming on.

There was a small pause. 

“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Lady asked with more concern.

“Yeah, something like that,” Dante admitted.

Another pause.

“Okay, well, I’ll swing by to pick you up in a little bit.” She informed him. “See you soon!”

The line clicked then went dead. Dante hung up the receiver. He pulled the bundle away from his nose again. The blood had stopped trickling.

Lady was probably going to ask what happened between him and Nero. Dante would have to decide just how much he was willing to lie about before she arrived. 


	17. Chapter 17

If Nero thought his life was like a YA novel before, then this would be the dramatic part where everything seemed to go to shit. He was the type of protagonist that couldn’t seem to get it right. The type of guy that got his first kiss and his first heartbreak on the same day. Given the fact he’d gotten both from his own uncle, maybe he should have foreseen that it would end horribly. In hindsight, it was stupid of him to think Dante would just accept his feelings, just because he used to be in love with his own brother.

Maybe he lied. Maybe Dante still wanted Vergil like that. Maybe Nero wasn’t a good enough replacement after all.

Nero hated crying. He’d been a crybaby as a child, wailing over every little stupid thing. He would cling to the legs of adults, not wanting to be alone. But he always ended up alone. He always got pried away and handed over to someone else. A troublesome child, annoying to his peers and picked on. Eventually, he learned to stop crying, because it never solved anything. It never got him what he wanted. 

Fighting with his fists and words caused problems, too, but it was more acceptable for a boy. Being a good fighter won him more friends, even though it made him enemies with the adults. They begged him to be more agreeable. But the adults never wanted to keep him when he was sad, so why should he try to appease them? They had made him the angry child he was. 

He learned to choose anger over sadness. Even when his father reclaimed him he chose to feel angry about it. He chose to be just as disagreeable, rejecting Vergil just as he’d felt Vergil had rejected him before. When he learned the truth he cried, and he hated every second of it as Vergil held him. He’d been thankful that Dante had woken up and given him a distraction.

Nero hated crying, but what he hated more was how easily Dante made him cry. How he could puncture through Nero’s anger like all his psychological armor was made of cardboard. And yeah, it wasn’t always a sadness that made Nero feel that way, but it was still scary. Nero chose to trust Dante. To let him have access to that vulnerable part Nero hated so much. So the fact that Dante chose to hurt him in such a calculated way was doubly catastrophic.

_ I don’t want you here anymore. _

Did Dante really mean that? In the end, it didn’t really matter if he did. The fact that he said it at all was enough. It smashed Nero to bits, regardless. If Dante could say something so wildly hurtful to him, then Nero wanted to hurt him back. But all Nero could come up with was insults and  _ I hate you _ . He knew Dante wouldn’t believe that he meant it. Nero didn’t mean it at all.

He thought he could learn, with enough time, to hate Dante. A week passed. He brooded and nit-picked every thought he had of Dante. Every quiet moment when his thoughts inevitably drifted to his uncle, Nero would tell himself excuses for exactly why Dante was the incredible piece of shit he’d said he was. When he went out on a delivery he would pause to glare at Dante’s office building and have dreadfully indulgent thoughts about it exploding or something. But those thoughts would be quickly replaced by a pang of sickened guilt. Because no matter how much Nero wanted to hate Dante, he still wanted his uncle to be okay.

Maybe that was why Vergil always sounded like he missed his brother, even though he had no intention of being close to him. The stress of caring about Dante when he was so self-destructive was such a heavy burden. Nero couldn’t blame Vergil for so vehemently rejecting Dante after his selfishness wrecked their family. Part of Nero wanted to do that too.

Loving Dante cost so much. Maybe Vergil had the right idea. Nero started to think he needed to put more distance between himself and his uncle. Would it hurt less then?

Two Sundays passed and Dante didn’t put in his usual order. That didn’t surprise Nero, but it still made him angry. Nico picked up on that and on the second pass she prodded him to talk about why he was so fucking moody. What had happened between him and Dante? Nero couldn’t tell the whole truth, of course, so he said they had a fight and that Dante kicked him out.

“Yer both a coupl’a stubborn assholes,” She said with a shrug, “You’d think narrowly escapin’ death would make y’all chill the fuck out.”

She had a point, but Nero couldn’t say it was more complicated than that, even though it was. The whole experience had brought them closer together. Too close. It had given Nero ideas that could never pan out in his favor, no matter how hard he’d tried to fantasize they could.

“Just go hug it out or somethin’ already,” Nico sounded a little sad and Nero disliked that so much he decided to busy himself with washing dishes as a distraction.

***

“Nero!” Nico called to him one afternoon while he was trying to fold pizza boxes in the back. “Come here a sec!”

Sighing, Nero finished stacking the box he’d been working on first. He assumed she wanted to give him some other chore she didn’t want to do.  _ Seniority is seniority _ . It was a surprise, then, to see Lady standing on the other side of the order counter. Nero grinned as she waved at him. He hadn’t seen her since the hospital.

“Well look at you,” Nero said, “You’re not here to sue us, are you?”

Lady raised a brow at him. “Do you have a reason to be sued?”

“Not recently,” Nico said, gaining the attention of both Nero and Lady, “What? Statute of Limitations ‘s a beautiful thing.”

“I don’t even wanna know,” Nero replied then looked back to Lady. “What brings you out here? Lunch?”

“Sort of,” Lady said, “I was also hoping to talk to you, if you have time?”

Nero glanced at the clock hung next to the menu board. It wasn’t time for his break yet, and it wouldn’t be so for a good hour or so. He was about to say as much to Lady, but Nico nudged an elbow into his side first.

“Go on. We ain’t busy or anythin’ anyways.” She said with a smile, then she turned her attention to Lady to ask her what she wanted to order.

Nero offered to at least help with the food, but Nico shooed him away. So he settled for getting Lady’s drink and one for himself too. He chose the table, one near the center of the room. Not the one near the window, where he and Dante had eaten. 

“How’re you doing?” Nero asked once they were both seated.

“Oh I’m fine,” Lady replied, “I’m out of physical therapy and everything. How about you?”

“I’m okay,” Nero shrugged.

“That so? I’m surprised.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Well, Dante told me what happened,” Lady admitted with a sympathetic look.

Nero’s stomach did a small flip. He figured Dante wouldn’t have told her  _ everything _ . He didn’t suspect Dante would want to tell anyone his nephew tried to make out with him and then tried to break his nose. But Nero wasn’t sure exactly how much Dante would have said, either.

“Yeah, what did he say?” Nero probed.

“Not a whole lot,” Lady replied as she swirled her straw in her iced tea, “He said you wanted to move into his place and he said no, so you got in a fight and then you left.”

“He kicked me out,” Nero said, though the story was more or less the same way he would have told it.

“You did punch him in the face,” Lady pointed out.

“He had it coming,” Nero grumbled, sucking down some of his soda.

“I don’t doubt it,” Lady chuckled a little, “I take it you guys haven’t made up yet?”

Nero shook his head. “I don’t really think we’re gonna, either.”

There was that tightness in his chest again. Dante affecting him even when the bastard wasn’t around. Making his eyes and lungs burn.

“No?” Lady’s voice was softer and she inclined her head to get a better look at him. “It’s really that bad?”

Nero averted his eyes. Lady took the hint and leaned back in her chair, not scrutinizing him as closely anymore. He was thankful for that. It gave him a chance to tamp the lid down.

“Then I take it he hasn’t told you about Trish?” Lady asked, then she immediately continued on when Nero obviously went tense, “She’s okay! She’s okay! She woke up!”

Nero let out a loud sigh of relief. It really was terrific news. He felt excited. He grinned, glad to have a much happier topic to focus on.

“That’s great!” Nero exclaimed, “Is she out of the hospital?”

“Not quite, but she’s making good progress! They have her doing all kinds of therapy. We had the same PT instructor for a little bit, actually.”

Lady went on with her cheerful explaining. She told Nero how Trish had several wounds; that one bullet had penetrated her stomach and another destroyed a kidney. Three others weren’t immediately life-threatening, though the combined blood loss alone nearly killed her. One bullet had torn through her hand. She’d reached to grab the gun, trying to stop Urizen. She was lucky it didn’t hit her in the head when it passed through.

Nico called out to Lady, saying her order was up. Unlike Nero or Kyrie, Nico never served tables if she could help it. When Lady moved to get up, Nero told her to sit back down then he got up to fetch it for her. She’d got a small pepperoni pizza, though it was still pretty big for one person. Nero wondered if she really could eat it all by herself. After he set the serving tray down he watched as she took an impressively huge bite out of one slice.

“Hey, this is pretty good!” She beamed after she swallowed.

“Something’s gotta keep this shithole in business. And it’s not the customer service!” Nero said rather loudly so Nico could hear.

He couldn’t see Nico since the counter was behind him, but Lady laughed while she looked over his shoulder. Nico was probably flipping him off or something, so he returned the gesture without looking back. Lady just giggled some more.

“I’m surprised you two aren’t long-lost siblings, too,” Lady commented.

“God, please no,” Nero wrinkled his brow, “I can’t even deal with my shitty brother. Where-ever he is.”

“So you haven’t heard from V either?” Lady asked as she kept eating. “Seems like nobody’s seen him since he escaped.”

“Maybe he’s dead,” Nero replied.

“It’s possible,” Lady replied with a small shrug.

Nero knew he sounded cold. He didn’t have any emotional attachment to V. Should he have been upset? Just because they were related by blood? In this family, blood ties seemed to cause more problems than anything.

“I could keep you posted if I hear anything?” Lady offered after sipping her tea. “I don’t have your phone number, though.”

“I don’t really have one, ‘sides the motel number and I don’t even know that off the top of my head.” Nero sighed, “But I don’t think I’ll be using it much longer anyway.”

“Are you moving?”

Nero nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck because he always seemed to have tension aching there lately. “I’ve been thinkin’ of moving back in with my dad? At least for a little bit.”

Vergil had said he could come back anytime he wanted to. Nero didn’t exactly _want_ to but staying in the same city as Dante felt stifling. He was tired of knowing he was always right there. Tired of replaying their last conversation in his head whenever he looked at that building or whenever closing time on Sunday came and went without a last-minute call. Vergil wanted Nero around. It wasn’t the way Nero wanted to be wanted by Dante, but it was better than not being wanted at all.

“Then take my card, at least,” Lady’s tone was sympathetic again and Nero didn’t like that but he couldn’t be angry about it.

She pulled out a small case from the purse she carried. From the case she pulled out a business card and handed it to Nero. He thanked her then stuck it in his own wallet and shoved that back into his back pocket.

“Hey, asshole!” Nico called over to Nero. “You got a delivery!”

Nero chuckled a little. Lady laughed too.

“I better get going,” He said as he stood up, “But hey, thanks for coming out to tell me about Trish and stuff. Tell her I’m glad she’s okay.”

“I will,” Lady smiled at him, “Nero?”

He paused, looking down at her. “Yeah?”

“Listen, I totally get that Dante is, well-”

“A dickhead?” Nero filled in.

“Yep! Definitely!” Lady beamed then took on a more serious tone, “But he also  _ does _ care about you. I can tell he’s not happy about whatever happened with you, even if he doesn’t wanna talk about it with me.”

Oh, Nero didn’t want to hear this. He really didn’t. But he stayed and listened anyway.

“He’s always been sort of a lonely guy, for as long as I’ve known him anyway. He’s funny and a reckless jackass, but he was also sort of… distant I guess. He didn’t talk about his family a lot but when he did he just seemed sad, you know? But then you showed up.”

“I don’t think I made that much of a difference,” Nero said, even though he knew that wasn’t true. 

Difference could be as bad as it could be good.

“You did. I think anyone who’s known him a while could tell. I could, at least. He was really different with you. He usually keeps people at a distance, but he kept letting you get closer. Or maybe you’re so stubborn you wouldn’t let him push you away? But, that just means you care about him too, doesn’t it?”

Nero felt like he was going to suffocate from the effort of keeping his emotions in check. He wasn’t going to cry. He couldn’t get angry, either. Lady didn’t deserve his rage. She was trying to help. Nero didn’t want help. He didn’t want to think about how much he cared about Dante anymore.

“What I’m trying to say,” Lady continued on, “Is you  _ did _ help him. You  _ did _ make a difference, and a good one. And I think whatever happened is hurting both of you. It’s fine to want to leave. I’m not trying to stop you from doing that. But I think you owe it to yourself to say goodbye? Don’t let this bad blood become something that hangs over your head for the rest of your lives.”

“And what if he doesn’t wanna talk to me?” Nero asked lowly. “What if he just throws me out again?”

“I don’t think he will,” Lady replied, “Though you could always do what I do and bribe him.”

“Yeah?” Nero laughed weakly, “With what?”

He didn’t have anything Dante wanted.

“Pizza and ice cream?” Lady chuckled. “I’ll leave it up to you. But at least consider what I said, okay?”

“Nero! Delivery!” Nico shouted at him again.

“I’m on it, ya harpy!” Nero yelled back, then looked once more to Lady. “I really gotta go. But, yeah, I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Lady nodded, then happily picked up her third slice of pizza.

Nero walked to the counter to grab his full delivery bag. He checked the map like usual, then went out back to the moped. It was sunny and cool outside, but not cold. After strapping the bag down on the back, he put on his helmet. As he fiddled with the chinstrap, Nero looked across the alley, over the other buildings, to Dante’s office. Just like he’d done every single day.

Instead of thinking terrible things, he thought about what Lady said. How Dante regretted the way things were now. Yeah, Nero regretted it too. But what else could he do? Lady didn’t have the whole story. If she did, would she have encouraged him to see Dante again?

Did he even want to see Dante?

That wringing feeling in his chest answered for him.

He let out a low breath, trying to quell that feeling. He climbed onto the moped and took the mandatory three tries to start it. When it finally rattled to life, Nero glanced back at Dante’s building before driving away to make his delivery.

“Pizza and ice cream, huh?” He mumbled to himself, his voice easily lost in the clanking and buzzing of the moped’s engine. “Okay, then.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the rating change~~~

Work becomes easier when it’s a distraction. It’s easier to immerse yourself in a familiar tedium when the alternative is a crisis. That’s not healthy. In no way does it solve anything. It’s just a bandage to stave the bleed when the real solution feels a million miles out-of-reach.

Or around the corner. 

Dante busied himself almost immediately after Nero left, taking up Lady’s offer to visit Trish in the hospital. It’d been good to see her. The visit put a pause on anything else he was feeling. He focused on Trish and talking with her and thanking her over and over. He apologized, too. None of this would have happened if he knew how to handle his business. Both Trish and Lady scolded him. And all three of them laughed.

The loft felt so quiet when he got home. So he turned on the jukebox and turned it up louder than usual. He didn’t like the station that had been left on the radio, so he switched it over to the record player. And he indulged himself listening to his favorite songs while he shuffled around the office, checking files he’d already organized before but felt the need to re-organize again.

He wanted a drink. All the whiskey was gone. He considered going over to the liquor store across the street. Nero would have been so disappointed if he did. But Nero wasn’t there anymore to know. Dante thought about how Nero hugged him the day he chucked out all the bottles. How proud and pleased his nephew looked. Back then it had taken every bit of willpower Dante had to not kiss Nero, because they were so close and Dante felt such an overwhelming surge of affection for the young man in his arms. 

Dante didn’t pick up any alcohol. He  _ did _ pick up work. He put in calls to some of his contacts, saying he was willing to take just about anything. He didn’t care how much it paid. One information dealer, this guy Morrison, hooked him up with some drama. The usual cheating-spouse kind of bullshit. Lame, mundane, and tedious. Perfect.

When he wasn’t actively working, Dante went to the hospital to visit Trish. He enjoyed seeing how she progressed. Sometimes Lady would show up after work, too. They’d hang out in Trish’s room and talk and joke. It felt like those days many years before, after Dante had gotten fired for constantly digging into Urizen’s case. They’d spend hours working into the late nights, at least until Trish had her job threatened too and Dante shut their meet-ups down. He’d missed it, that camaraderie.

But Trish and Lady also  _ pried _ . He couldn’t fault them for it. They wanted to know more about what happened with Nero. He told them the same story over and over, asking them to drop it. That hurt, not only because he knew they cared, but because he knew he would always be lying every time he said it. No matter how much they cared, finding out he was almost serially having incestuous feelings toward his family members would probably be one hell of a deal-breaker.

For the most part, Dante trapped himself. He always did. Unable to dig himself out of the hole he’d bored into the earth that caused everything to collapse into it, burying him. 

A man in a pit; feeling around the edges but never able to get out on his own.

Days turned into weeks, but they could have been months for how quickly time passed. It was kind of amazing how easy it was to form a routine when it helped fill in a void. Dante wondered how long it would last. How much shit would he need to cram into every timeslot before he could go one day without thinking about Nero? 

He considered going to him so many times. Just to see him. To make sure he was okay. To apologize? Would Nero listen or would he just deck Dante out again? More than that, Dante wasn’t certain he could control himself either. Not that he’d want to hit Nero, but because of that insatiable urge to touch and hold and jealously covet him that persisted despite all Dante’s effort to make it stop.

Dante didn’t go to Nero.

Nero came to him.

It was late. Probably later than the time he’d usually been crashing into bed. Dante was going over his notes for a case he was about to wrap up. Some housewife worried that her husband was cheating on her. The guy wasn’t, but he did have a drug problem. After he got the photo evidence developed, Dante would meet with her and lay it all out. He’d try to get her in contact with a rehab. But first, his notes.

When he heard a knock on the door he thought he’d misheard. He wasn’t expecting anyone, though the door would have been locked if he did anyway. Then came another knock, so he considered it was a client. Anyone else would have called, but sometimes clients preferred to meet in person. Kept the call records clean. 

Dante set down his notebook then went to answer the door. Pulling it open, he felt his stomach turn almost instantly. There was Nero, dressed not unlike the day he left. Clothes full of too many holes for that raggedy hoodie to possibly keep him warm. In one hand he balanced a thin square box that Dante immediately recognized as a pizza box. In the other hand was a paper bag he held by the handles. He didn’t have his backpack.

Dante’s eyes met Nero’s and he felt like he would fall through the floor. Last time he saw those eyes they were crying. Now they looked so clear. So vast it gave him vertigo.

“Nero…” Dante found his voice somewhere in the whirlpool of his thoughts and emotions, “Uh, you’re here…”

“Yeah, I am.” Nero squinted a little, like he was trying to think of what to say next. “I wanna talk. I was hoping you’d, y’know, let me in?”

Nero lifted the pizza box up as an offering. It was a bribe, Dante realized. Nero must have talked to Lady. Goddamnit.

“You’re trying to bribe me with pizza?” Dante asked.

Nero lifted up the paper bag next. “I brought sundaes, too.”

“You’re bribing me with pizza and ice cream…” Dante muttered incredulously, wondering if he’d somehow passed out at his desk and started dreaming.

“Is it working?” Nero asked and his mouth curved into a pleading sort of smile.

Dante knew he needed to refuse. He also knew that he wouldn’t.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Dante said, rubbing a hand over his own eyes a moment though it didn’t get the image of Nero’s expression out of his sight, “Alright, Alright. Get in here.”

Dante stepped back a few steps, then turned and headed for the center of the room. He kept his back mostly turned to Nero. He took one deep, steady breath, trying to prepare himself for this sudden disruption. To keep his thoughts collected despite the fact they were basically screaming inside of him. When he turned back around, Nero had already placed the pizza and the bag on his desk.

Nero turned and leaned back slightly against the desk. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Then he looked to Dante with the same expression he had standing outside the door. This time Dante didn’t try to avoid it.

“So, talking, right?” Nero began awkwardly, “We’re kinda shit at it…”

Dante let out an airy sort of laugh. “Yeah.”

There was a pause as if to illustrate the fact.

“I thought I knew what I was gonna say,” Nero whispered to himself though Dante heard it too, then he addressed Dante again. “Why… Why’d you kick me out?”

“I had to,” Dante kept his voice calm and his eyes focused on Nero.

“‘Cause I kissed you?” Nero asked.

“Because this isn’t right,” Dante answered.

“So you didn’t like it?” Nero prodded more and Dante’s stomach turned again hearing the underlying begging tone in his voice. “Is it ‘cause I’m not Vergil?”

“What?” Dante felt taken back and he shook his head, “No. Nero, it’s not that.”

“Then is it just… You don’t feel the same way I do?” Nero continued prying.

Dante’s chest ached. The fact that Nero thought he needed to replace Vergil stung deep. Nero admitting how he felt made his limbs feel electrified, even though Dante had already known. It took Dante a few moments to gather his thoughts again.

“No, I feel it. I do.” Dante finally replied.

Nero sighed out as if he’d been holding his breath waiting. “If that’s true… If we both love each other, like that, then why does it matter if anyone else thinks it’s bad?”

“Oh, kid…” Dante finally had to look away. 

He had to scrub his hands over his face and curse whatever unlucky star he was born under that cursed him to be a magnet for idealists. To his credit, Nero just waited patiently for Dante to reply. Dante let his hands fall. He looked back to his nephew. His dumb, naive, beautiful nephew. 

“I told Vergil that I wouldn’t ruin you,” Dante admitted.

Nero’s expression narrowed. There was the anger again. It always seemed like it broiled just under the surface. Even now it seemed Dante was adept at pulling it through.

“It’s a little late for that,” Nero said, his voice still remarkably steady though obviously edged. “So, what? You two fucks just get to decide for me? I don’t get any say in my own fuckin’ life what’s good for me?”

“We both want to protect you,” Dante explained.

“Neither of you have the right-” Nero’s voice shook just for a second and it made Dante’s skin prickle. “Goddamnit… Look, I get that Vergil wants to be my dad. And that he cares about me. And that he doesn’t want you to hurt me like you hurt him. That’s really clear…”

Nero pushed off from the desk. He stepped forward, toward Dante. Dante felt his throat go dry. He couldn’t predict what Nero was up to. He felt transfixed, enraptured by the intensity of Nero’s voice and his stare.

“But, I’m  _ not _ Vergil,” Nero continued, “I wanted you. I wanted to  _ stay _ with you. I wanted  _ everything _ that Vergil didn’t. And you…”

Nero stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. They had less than two feet between them, but to Dante it felt like a ravine.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you,” Dante said.

“Well you did,” Nero replied with a bitter laugh, “Kicking me out like that? It hurt. What you  _ said _ ? That  _ fucking _ hurt, you asshole. So if you’re still all worried about not hurting me or not ruining me then just stop. You already fucked that up.”

“Nero, I-”.

“I came here to say goodbye,” Nero cut Dante off and the weight of his words made Dante’s mind go blank. “I wasn’t gonna. I was just gonna leave town. But a very nice and...  _ convincing _ ... little bird told me I should try and talk to you first.”

“Was she a bird in a nice suit?” Dante joked even though he really didn’t feel like he could laugh.

“Yeah,” Nero did smile albeit slightly.

Then Nero took a breath, and he stepped forward again. Just once. Just enough to make Dante’s heart feel like it was gonna somersault out of his throat. 

“So, I’ve talked,” Nero shrugged, “And I still don’t… I gotta know. I gotta know if you really don’t want me here, Dante. ‘Cause if you don’t?… If you still want me to leave? I’ll go. And I won’t come back... But you gotta tell me...”

The way Nero’s brows furrowed and the way his lips shook before he set his jaw tight gave enough of a hint to Dante that the younger man was trying not to cry. Dante was fighting it too. His brain reeled, trying to decide what to do. His heart reeled as well, at odds with his brain’s logic. What he wanted and what he thought he needed to do were once again totally out of sync.

Nero gave a small, sob-like sigh and took a step backward. That instantly put an end to the debate. Dante reached out and grabbed Nero, holding either side of his face. Then he stepped forward, bringing them chest-to-chest.

“Don’t leave,” Dante said before kissing Nero’s mouth quickly, “ _ Don’t leave. _ ”

He kissed Nero again, this time with more pressure. Dante shut his eyes and leaned into it further, chasing the electric heat that shot through him from Nero’s lips. Nero grasped his hands tightly around Dante’s wrists. He didn’t try to move them. He just held on, moving his mouth desperately against Dante’s. Dante felt Nero’s tongue slide against his. It sent a spark deep into him, rocketing straight through to his feet.

He felt a wet drop hit his thumb. It rolled down over the back of his hand. Dante pulled back from the kiss to look at Nero.

“Hey, c’mon,” Dante pressed his forehead against Nero’s, speaking softly, “Don’t cry.”

“Shut up,” Nero’s voice hitched, “This’s your fault.”

“I know,” Dante admitted dolefully, “I’m sorry.”

Dante brushed his thumbs over Nero’s cheeks, gathering up the wetness and the heat that was making them so warm and red. He kissed Nero again and felt Nero’s hands shake around his wrists.

“I’m sorry,” Dante repeated as he kissed at Nero again and again, “I’m sorry, Nero.”

Nero’s hands left Dante’s wrists. They rested on his chest, then slid upward, leaving a trail of invisible fire behind, burning his skin through his clothes. Nero’s hands went up Dante’s neck, then into his hair. Nero pulled himself closer, resting his elbows on Dante’s shoulders. He took the lead, kissing Dante more voraciously and pressing their bodies tighter. Dante let his hands fall from Nero’s face to reach inside his unzipped hoodie to hold his waist.

Dante felt like he was overheating. His pulse was firing out of control. Part of him still wanted to believe he was in a dream. But the way his body was reacting to Nero was too real. Overstimulating. He could feel Nero reacting to him, too.

“Fucking hell,” Dante mumbled against Nero’s hot mouth as he pulled back again.

Nero tried to chase back, kissing him again, not wanting to stop. Dante didn’t want to stop, either. He just wanted to get more comfortable, so he could focus more on Nero. He stepped back but made sure to pull Nero along by his arms when Nero gave him a confused, searching expression. Nero’s eyes were so lust-filled it made Dante’s insides twinge with heat.

“C’mon,” Dante said as he dragged Nero along toward the sofa against the wall across from his desk.

Sitting himself down, Dante tugged at Nero’s arms to draw him forward. Taking the hint, Nero climbed onto the couch, knees settling on either side of Dante’s hips. Settling down on Dante’s lap, Nero leaned down to kiss Dante again. This time it was slower, though just as wanting. Tongue tasting tongue. Teeth biting and sucking at Dante’s bottom lip. Nero’s hands cupped his face similar to the way Dante had held Nero’s, thumbs brushing over all his rough stubble.

Was Nero trying to be erotic, or was that just Dante’s body going haywire? All that pent-up need that had nowhere to go was finally having revenge on him. Still, Dante didn’t want to be the one to push. He let his hands come to rest at Nero’s hips. He let Nero decide what he wanted to do.

Nero slid forward more, bringing himself closer. The friction pressed against Dante’s cock, where it had been steadily growing harder in his pants since Nero had started kissing him. He could feel the mound of Nero’s cock, too, as it pressed through his clothes. Nero groaned into Dante’s mouth. Then he rocked his hips, making them rub against each other again.

Dante dug his fingers into Nero’s hips. Not to make him stop, but just as a reaction to the excited and uncomfortable heat that Nero was creating between his legs. Nero ground down against him again and cursed. Then he laid his forehead against Dante’s shoulder. His heated breath panted against Dante’s throat. Dante turned his head and kissed at Nero’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt and the hood of his jacket. Then he tilted up enough to speak gently into Nero’s ear.

“How far do you wanna go?”

Nero rolled his hips again, this time harder, drawing a deep groan from Dante that was just as much pleasure as it was suffering. 

“Is this good enough?” Nero asked with just enough honest wondering it made Dante’s heart ache.

“Yeah,” Dante nodded, rubbing the tip of his nose along the lower outside of Nero’s ear. “This’s so good.”

To prove it, Dante thrust his hips up against Nero, making his nephew tense and shake against him. Nero was already so heated and hypersensitive. He must have been sweltering in his hoodie. Dante lifted his hands, intending to help Nero out of it, but Nero grabbed them before he could. Nero threaded their fingers together and pressed their palms tight. Then he sat up straighter, looking down at Dante with parted lips and intensely needy eyes. 

Dante squeezed Nero’s hands tightly and Nero squeezed back. Then Nero kissed him, deeply and messy. He ground down against Dante more desperately. Dante could feel Nero’s cock getting harder against his. The tightness of his own clothing could have been unbearable if it weren’t for the constant shocks of pleasure that rolled in waves through him every time. 

Nero rutted faster, holding onto Dante’s hands to give him more leverage. Their skin was so slick with sweat that their knuckles turned white from the crushing hold required to keep their hands together. 

It was almost animalistic, the way Nero sought the thrill of moving his body against Dante’s. He panted and growled and kissed at Dante’s mouth, crashing down onto him so roughly that his teeth cut into the inside of Dante’s lip. The small dose of pain just excited Dante more, until he felt his cock leak so much pre-ejaculate he could feel it soaking into the inside of his underwear. The slickness made the material slide more over the confined tip of his cock, a strong enough stimulation to send him over the edge.

He felt Nero’s legs squeeze tight against him as he came, too. It was like they started at the exact same time. That thought made the feeling more intense. Dante heard himself nearly shouting as his body tensed and convulsed up against Nero, his cum spreading thick and hot inside the front of his pants.

Breathless, Nero fell against Dante. Dante released his aching grip from Nero’s hands in order to wrap his arms around his nephew to keep him upright. They both sat there panting, their chests rising and falling erratically against each other. Nero’s breath tickled at Dante’s sweat-covered neck as his head laid on Dante’s shoulder. 

There was no turning back from this. Dante couldn’t help but feel guilty about that. But what he felt stronger was the overwhelming sense that - no matter how wrong this was - he wanted to keep Nero. And he wanted Nero to keep him, too.

After a few minutes passed, Dante felt reality settle back in. He felt all sweaty and gross, what with his cum soaked into his clothes. They could both use a shower, he thought.

“Hey,” Dante spoke, then cleared his throat finding it still a little worn out, “Did you uh, did you bring any extra clothes with you?”

The sudden tension he felt along Nero’s body answered before Nero’s voice did. “Ah shit… Goddamnit…”

Dante laughed so loud it jostled Nero against him. Nero sat upright and then slugged a fist into Dante’s bicep. It hurt, but it didn’t make Dante stop laughing, especially with the obvious embarrassment writ across Nero’s features. Dante felt his chest swell with affection even more. He grabbed Nero by the face and pulled him in to kiss him indulgently.

He was very quickly becoming absolutely addicted to kissing Nero.

“You can borrow my clothes,” Dante said when they parted.

Nero scowled. “I don’t wanna wear your stupid-ass clothes. Wash mine.”

“So demanding,” Dante teased.

“I brought bribes, y’know,” Nero smirked. “By the way, I think your sundae’s melting.”

“That’s okay,” Dante replied, giving Nero another kiss and sucking at his lip for good measure, “I think you taste better anyway.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the gratuitous porn chapter, everyone!

In hindsight, Nero wished he’d brought his backpack. He didn’t want to seem like he’d expected Dante to let him stay. Really, he hadn’t been sure at all how the meeting would go. He _ definitely _didn’t expect to end up dry-humping his uncle until they were a sweaty, cum-soaked mess on the office sofa. 

Nero’s face went hot again as he thought about it on his way up the stairs. It didn’t help that he felt it as he walked; that weird gross dampness inside his clothes. He headed for the bathroom, but stopped and turned around when he reached the door. Dante had followed him upstairs then diverted to the kitchen to shove the ice cream in the freezer. Nero didn’t like the distance. He wanted Dante to shower with him.

“You comin’ or what?” Nero made his voice sound irritated to cover for the excitement boiling inside him.

Now that they were doing this - no turning back - Nero wanted to do _ everything _ with Dante. He’d waited too long, questioned too much, and ached so deeply. Now that he knew he could have Dante in all those sick and twisted ways he couldn’t resist wanting more.

“I kinda already _ did _,” Dante gave him a smirk as he walked over to join Nero.

“Nevermind. You stay out there and stew in it, asshole,” Nero said as he opened the door.

“I don’t think so,” Dante replied and he grabbed Nero by the hips from behind as they stumbled into the bathroom. 

He felt Dante’s hands slide further to his front, fingers finding the button of his pants and popping it open. Nero felt his skin go all hot and tingly. He pressed back against Dante, letting his spine follow Dante’s abdomen and chest. Craning his neck, Nero reached back to grab the back of Dante’s head, pulling at his hair. Dante ducked his head down and started kissing at Nero’s neck. The scrape of his beard against the sensitive skin there made Nero shiver. 

Dante unzipped Nero’s fly, then shoved down the waist of his pants. Nero tried to kick off his boots, but they were laced too tight. Cursing, he bent over to untie the laces. As Nero worked to get his shoes off, Dante’s hands grabbed his hips again. Nero realized his butt was still pressed up against Dante’s crotch. His pulse jolted.

_ Situational awareness _.

Dante’s thumbs hooked into the waistband of Nero’s boxer-briefs and tugged. The material slid over and around the curve of Nero’s ass, until it all bunched up near the middle of his thighs. It felt weird having the texture of Dante’s pants pressed against his bare skin, to feel the dampness of his cum there. Nero felt a stirring at the base of his spine. A deeply needy heat.

Boots and socks finally removed, Nero shoved his pants and underwear off too. Then he straightened up and turned to face Dante. Nero started shrugging off his hoodie, probably not very seductively though the look Dante gave him was one full of amusement and want. 

“You just gonna stand there?” Nero grumbled as he dropped his hoodie to the floor.

“And enjoy the show? Sure.” Dante shrugged with a grin.

Rolling his eyes, Nero grabbed the bottom hems of his tee and undershirt then peeled them up and over his head. He felt a twinge of self-consciousness being the only one getting undressed. Moreover, he wanted to see Dante’s body. Dante got to see so much of him already, intentional or otherwise. It wasn’t fair. 

Dropping the last of his clothes, Nero stepped forward to press himself up against Dante. He slid one hand over his uncle’s cheek, holding him still so he could press his mouth to Dante’s. Nero intended to make the kiss short, but it seemed they both got lost in it. Nero’s heartbeat fluttered anxiously.

“Hurry up already,” Nero said when he finally brought himself to part. 

His hands went to the front of Dante’s pants and he felt thankful that Dante wasn’t wearing his duster or many layers at all. Nero thumbed open the button and unzipped the fly. Finally spurring to action, Dante worked at taking off his own top. Nero intended to get Dante’s pants off with as much gusto as Dante had given him, but when he came face-to-face with Dante’s bare chest his hands froze. His heart throbbed. Almost immediately he raised his hands to touch Dante’s stomach, letting them slide up his uncle’s sides and over his chest.

Nero had joked before about Dante being out of shape, but that wasn’t entirely true. He could see - and feel - that Dante was strong. Probably not as lean and fit as he had been as a young cop, but the definition was still there on the soft ridges of his abdomen and the broadness of his chest. Nero let his fingers trace over the planes of Dante’s body, feeling the white, wiry hairs drag against his palms.

Then he focused on the dip of Dante’s collarbone. The round scar there was pale and off-center. It looked so small now. Such a tiny bullet had almost killed Dante. Nero leaned forward and pressed his mouth against it. He wouldn’t be able to make it go away, but the thought was there.

Almost lost in the sensation between his hands and his mouth, Nero startled a little when Dante laughed lowly. Glancing up, Nero met Dante’s half-lidded stare. He felt his throat go dry.

“C’mon, go start the shower,” Dante said bumping the tip of his nose against Nero’s.

Nero tilted his head just enough to let his lips brush against Dante’s. If they started kissing again they’d get carried away. Letting out a sigh, Nero made himself walk away. He headed for the shower and spent a few seconds adjusting the water. He glanced behind him to make sure Dante was getting undressed. He was and Nero caught himself raking his eyes over his uncle. At least until he glimpsed at Dante’s cock and felt such a strong swirl of embarrassment that he quickly looked away and then ducked into the shower. 

Oh god, Nero thought as covered his face with his hands. _ Oh god _. He wasn’t prepared. He hadn’t been prepared for anything, really. But he certainly wasn’t prepared for just how attractive Dante would look without clothes on. None of the things he’d imagined did justice to reality. And now that reality was standing on the other side of the shower curtain. 

Then the curtain shoved aside and Nero looked up feeling very much like an animal caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. Dante raised a brow at him. Then he stepped inside under the flowing showerhead, closing the curtain back behind him. Dante reached and carefully wrapped his hands around Nero’s wrists, which were still up near his face.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dante asked with such genuine concern Nero felt like he could fall apart.

“Yeah!” Nero accidentally shouted, then he quickly lowered his voice, “I’m just… This’s… It’s a lot. There’s a lot going on right now.”

“Okay…” Dante replied with a soft laugh. “Is it too much? I can step out? Give you some space?”

Nero’s pulse thrummed in panic. He shook his head. Even though Dante held his wrists, the grip was loose enough for him to push through it. He wrapped his arms around Dante’s shoulders and let his hands tuck into his soaking wet hair.

“Don’t you fucking even…” Nero growled against Dante’s mouth, trying to sound tough even though his nerve-addled heart threatened to rocket launch itself out of his ribcage.

“Okay, I got it,” Dante’s laugh reverberated against Nero’s lips.

Eventually, they did have to break away to get some _ actual washing _ done. Maneuvering around the enclosure of the shower was a little tricky. Nero scrubbed down first, then switched places with Dante so he could rinse off. Dante was supposed to take his turn washing himself, but he seemed more keen on helping Nero, pressing himself once again against his nephew’s back. 

Feeling Dante’s hands rubbing over his wet skin made Nero feel weak in the knees, especially when Dante’s palm slid down between Nero’s legs to squeeze at his cock. He’d already been in varying degrees of arousal ever since they entered the bathroom. Dante’s teasing was quickly tipping the scales.

Figuring they’d never get out of the shower at that rate, Nero pried Dante’s hand away. But Dante just curled his fingers around Nero’s, locking them together.

“Dante…” Nero mumbled, feeling his thoughts get scrambled as Dante licked and kissed at the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, can’t help it,” Dante apologized, his lips moving against Nero’s skin as he spoke.

“Finish washing and then you can help yourself all you want,” Nero offered with a smirk Dante could probably hear though he couldn’t see.

“Oh, you’re a good salesman,” Dante chuckled.

“Come on,” Nero said, managing to pull his hand free and then turn around to face Dante. “Don’t you think I wanna help myself too?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Nero shoved aside the curtain and stepped out onto the small floor towel that laid across the tile. His heart was racing excitedly. He knew he’d just issued a sort of challenge, though he didn’t even know what the conditions were. But he felt compelled to get himself dried off and prepared for whatever Dante’s answer would be. 

Dante apparently felt the need to finish his cleaning quickly. Nero barely had time to wrap his towel around his waist before the water shut off and Dante came bolting out of the shower. Not hesitating, Dante stooped down and tucked his shoulder into Nero’s stomach, then lifted him up. The shock of being carried over Dante’s shoulder only lasted long enough for Dante to stride out of the bathroom with him.

“The FUCK are you doing?!” Nero blustered. “At least dry off first!”

The idiot was gonna end up slipping with his wet feet and send them both to the hospital. That thought kept Nero from squirming to get away.

“No time,” Dante chirped back, “Too horny.”

“Oh my god,” Nero’s face flushed red hot with embarrassment. 

Chuckling, Dante finally made it to the bed. He dumped Nero down onto it. Nero bounced against the mattress and his towel loosened, sliding lower down his hips and threatening to fall open. He grabbed it to pull it more closed and glared up at Dante.

Anxiety twisted inside his chest again. Dante was giving him that admiring look once more, like he was appraising a meal that was laid out before him. It made Nero feel hotter. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t help looking Dante over again, taking in how well his nude form was built and the thick hair that highlighted his chest and stomach. And yeah, Nero even looked _ there _, too, and the sight of Dante’s erect cock made him feel just a little dizzy.

Dante climbed onto the bed until he was hanging over Nero. Nero laid back more until he was flat. His breath was already heavy and he knew his face probably looked all red. It was all so much to deal with, those heightened feelings spiraling through him.

Perhaps sensing Nero’s stress level, Dante leaned down and gave him a short kiss. Then he pressed his forehead against Nero’s. Nero let his eyes fall closed, focusing on trying to get a hang on himself even though Dante was so very close. They stayed like that for a few moments, until Dante spoke up.

“How far do you wanna go?” 

Nero bit his bottom lip, thinking. Dante had asked that before, downstairs. He appreciated that Dante didn’t want to push him. It made Nero feel more in control and it did help to ease some of the confusion that clouded up his brain whenever Dante was near. But Nero also knew that - despite that - he wanted more.

“How far are you willing to take me?” Nero asked, opening his eyes again to look up at Dante.

This time it was Dante who looked like he was about to meltdown. Like he honestly didn’t expect Nero to say something so suggestive. The look on Dante’s face made Nero feel proud. He was happy that he could heat Dante up like that. 

“Holy shit, kid,” Dante breathed out heavily then he kissed Nero again, this time swiping his tongue into Nero’s mouth. 

Nero shut his eyes again and let himself get lost. As they kissed, Dante lowered himself closer to Nero, now balancing on his forearms. He took one hand and placed it on Nero’s bare chest. Nero felt Dante’s thumb brush over his nipple and it drove a spike of excitement down through him. Dante brushed over it again, then squeezed it between his fingers. Nero shuddered a little.

Then Dante broke the kiss. He moved downward, still teasing the left side of Nero’s chest with his hand. Nero wanted to ask what he was doing, but then he felt Dante’s tongue drag over his right nipple. Then came the scrape of his teeth as he held Nero’s nipple in his mouth and sucked. First, the suction was gentle, then it grew more intense. Nero writhed from the tingling sensation that flooded through him. He panted and grabbed Dante’s head with one hand, pushing against it and encouraging him more.

He didn’t want Dante to stop. It was a form of arousal he hadn’t experienced before. Nero wondered if Dante could make him orgasm just from teasing his chest. The sensitivity was strong enough he probably could.

Dante did stop. Nero’s stomach fell in disappointment. But then Dante shifted to move lower and Nero’s insides started to feel all bubbly with anticipation. Dante paused and then kissed at Nero’s skin, just below his belly button. At the scar, Nero realized. He felt something quake inside him, erupting with affection. Dante continued pressing his lips against it, incrementally following the entire line. Nero pet his fingers softly through Dante’s hair, letting him take his time. 

It felt like an apology. That was stupid, Nero thought. Dante hadn’t been the one that stabbed him. But he also knew Dante felt bad for it. He blamed himself, even for shit that wasn’t his fault. If apologizing made him feel better, then Nero would let him. In this case, it made Nero feel good, too. The attention made him feel exceptionally loved.

Dante moved lower and Nero’s excitement increased. He knew what Dante probably planned to do, but that didn’t quell the aching inside him. Grabbing the edges of the towel, Dante slowly pulled it apart. The air felt cool. And Nero felt so incredibly naked. 

When Dante’s tongue met the tip of his half-swollen cock, Nero gave a low groan. Dante tilted his head up to look at him. Nero got up to rest on his elbows and meet Dante's eyes. His uncle’s mouth curved into a devious grin and he stuck his tongue out to lick long and slow over the head of his cock and up the top side.

Nero could feel himself get harder just from that. Then Dante took Nero’s cock into his hand, stroking gently to coax it more. He took the head into his mouth first, letting his tongue form a gentle suction against it. Nero’s fingers gripped a little at the towel below him as he watched and felt every movement of Dante’s mouth. His grip went tighter when Dante took in more of him. It felt so hot and wet. Nero struggled but couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up into it.

Dante pulled back and grinned at him. Nero wanted Dante to suck him more, desperately eager for that wet heat to engulf him again. It was so different - so much _ better _ \- than anything he’d felt jerking off with his hand.

But when Dante went back down he didn’t take Nero’s cock back into his mouth. Instead, he drew his tongue over Nero’s sack while his hand went back to stroking him. That was a new and wild sensation, too. Nero was so hard and aching, getting swallowed up by his own heat and the pressure he felt building low in his spine.

He felt Dante pull back again. It made him nearly whine. A frustrated noise involuntarily fell out of his panting mouth. 

“Dante…” Nero growled, forcing himself to loosen his grip on the towel.

“Relax,” Dante said amusedly, “I’m taking you on a trip.”

Then Dante grabbed Nero’s legs. He pressed them up and further apart, making Nero’s hips tilt upward with his knees almost up near his ears. Nero’s head swam with confusion. He couldn’t figure out what Dante was doing. He felt a little surge of panic course through him.

Still holding Nero’s legs tightly in position, Dante ducked back down. And then Nero felt it; Dante’s tongue licking over his asshole. Nero’s breath hitched sharply. He wriggled against the sensation, finding it all a little too weird and too stimulating all at once. He thought he shouldn’t like it. Dante’s tongue was so slick with spit, swirling and prodding at him. Nero instinctively clenched his hole against the sensation. 

Dante just pressed tighter into him, his jaw and mouth working deep into the crack and his tongue lapping faster and harder. His beard scraped against the curve of Nero’s ass. Nero felt like his brain was filling up with sparks. He was overheating from the shame and the sick enjoyment coursing through him. That pressure inside him was building more and more. His hands wringed at the towel again, knuckles going white. 

He thought he shouldn’t like it, and he felt disgusted that he did.

Right as Nero thought he would hit his breaking point, Dante stopped. He slid his hands down the back of Nero’s thighs, letting them lower to fall on either side of his body. Dante rose and swooped over Nero again, grinning. His lips looked reddened and wet. Nero scowled, laying back against the bed.

“Don’t you dare kiss me,” He panted.

Dante laughed. He moved like he was going to do just that, so Nero shoved a hand up to cover Dante’s mouth. He ground his palm against Dante’s lips, trying to wipe them. Dante just laughed some more, but he stopped trying to press forward. Nero let his hand fall away. 

He still felt all wound up. Still on fire all over. It didn’t help that Dante was looking at him so affectionately, with his hair falling down around his face. 

“You’re really sensitive,” Dante said and he reached to pinch at Nero’s left nipple again.

Nero tried to bite back a groan, but it came out anyway. He writhed a little from the electric sensation Dante’s touch brought.

“It’s not like I’ve done this before,” Nero pointed out.

Dante blinked his eyes, then tilted his head slightly. It looked like he was considering something. Then he spoke again.

“So, you really _ are _ a virgin?”

“Is that a problem?” Nero asked back with an annoyed tone, though inside he felt a small worry that it would be.

“No. Not at all. Christ,” Dante practically groaned out, falling over Nero.

At first, Nero thought Dante was going to kiss him, but his uncle just tucked his head into the nape of his neck. He could feel Dante’s breath against him. Dante chuckled a little and it tickled Nero’s skin.

“You’re killin’ me,” Dante mumbled and his lips dragged against Nero.

It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one feeling a little overwhelmed. Smirking, Nero decided to lift his legs and wrap them around Dante’s waist. Then he lifted his hips to make his cock slide up along Dante’s.

“Trip’s not over yet,” He said teasingly.

“Where’d you learn to be so damn sexy?” Dante asked into his neck.

The compliment made Nero melt. He chuckled, then rolled his hips up to let their cocks meet again. Truth be told, he didn’t think of himself as sexy at all. He was just doing and saying whatever felt good at the moment. It wasn’t his fault that it turned Dante on so much. Though Nero was overjoyed that it did. 

“Okay, okay, I got the hint,” Dante said as he raised back up.

Nero watched his uncle lean far over him and to the right. Dante reached into the bedside table drawer, rummaging around until he found what he wanted. Settling back, Dante plopped what was in his hand onto the bed next to Nero. He recognized the items as a packaged condom and a half-full bottle of lubricant.

“So this is gonna probably be kind of weird, since it’s your first time,” Dante tried to explain.

“I’m gonna have sex with my _ uncle _ ,” Nero replied deadpan. “Trust me, _ weird _ doesn’t even cut it close.”

A laugh burst out of Dante and he shook his head. “Fair point! But I mean that I’m gonna have to, you know, prepare you? Lube you up? Grease the gears-”

“I get it, Dante!” Nero yelled to shut him up before he died from mortification. 

“What I’m saying is, it’s probably gonna hurt. And it’s probably gonna be uncomfortable, at first. But it _ will _ feel good, too.”

“And what if I don’t wanna be the one, uh, taking it?” Nero asked.

“You wanna top me instead?” Dante asked back, sounding legitimately curious.

Nero chewed at his own bottom lip for a moment, thinking. Up to this point, Nero had allowed Dante to be the more assertive one. That really didn’t bother him. Dante was clearly more experienced. Nero wasn’t completely sure what he’d have to do to “top” Dante, anyway. Still, it was nice to know the option was open.

“No, I want you to,” Nero decided.

“Alright,” Dante smiled down at him, “But if it gets to be too much tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” Nero replied, “Though you coulda asked me like this _ before _ _ you went down on my ass earlier_..”

“Yeah,” Dante grimaced a little bit, “Sorry, next time I will.”

“It’s alright,” Nero sighed, still trying to shake some of the embarrassment. “It wasn’t that terrible...”

“You _ were _ pretty into it,” Dante beamed as he picked up the bottle of lubricant off the bed.

“Will you shut up and get on with it already?” Nero chided him.

He was feeling nervous again. And excited. He didn’t really know what to expect, but he felt more at ease with Dante’s encouragement. Nero watched Dante pop open the bottle and then squeeze some of the clear liquid onto his fingers. 

“Spread your legs a little,” Dante told him and Nero complied, letting them fall open on Dante’s sides.

“Like that?” Nero asked.

“Yeah, good,” Dante nodded. “Though it’d probably be easier if you were laying on your stomach for this.”

“No,” Nero responded almost immediately, “I wanna… look at you.”

“Yeah,” Dante’s smile looked fond and amused, “I wanna look at you, too.”

Then Nero felt Dante rubbing a finger against him. First, it just followed his crack, leaving a slick trail along with it. That was strange enough, but then it pressed in more, sliding over his hole. Nero imagined the lube mixing with Dante’s saliva and it sent a weird shiver through him. He remembered how he’d reacted to Dante’s tongue by clenching. Feeling the urge to do that again, Nero had to concentrate hard to make himself relax.

Dante’s finger prodded in deeper, pressing until it pushed through that first resistance. It did hurt. Not as much as Nero had anticipated, but the stretch still burned a bit. He could feel the finger back up then slide back in, though not going in much further. As Dante repeated that action it did hurt less, as more of the lubricant spread inside him.

And it did feel uncomfortable. Not enough to make Nero want to stop, but strange all the same. He knew in some measure this was how guys had sex with each other. Knowledge gleaned from jokes with peers and media, so it was flawed for sure, but Nero hadn’t felt repulsed by it like others seemed to be. He didn’t feel repulsed doing it, either.

After Dante had worked his finger into him fully, the discomfort eased, too. Every time that finger pressed into him, Nero felt something even pleasurable. A pulse of ecstasy that easily won over the strangeness of being filled inside. He wanted more of that. He started to feel eager for it, that hot shock that made his toes curl and his throat cry. Then Dante started fucking him with two fingers. Nero adjusted faster than before, maybe because the pressure felt more erotic than strange. More pressure inside him meant more stimulation to draw across that spot that made him feel so good. 

Nero felt himself loosening more and more the longer Dante fucked his fingers into him. His cock was hard again, swelling enough to curve back and rest against his own abdomen. The tip leaked precum against his skin. He considered reaching down to stroke himself, but he thought he’d come so fast if he did. He didn’t want that yet. Nero wanted to let himself suffer, because right then suffering felt amazing.

He didn’t know how much time passed while Dante worked on him. He did know that he’d held his eyes shut for a while, lost in the thrilling waves that his uncle was drawing out of him. When Nero opened his eyes his stomach flipped to see Dante watching him. Dante’s face was flushed and his eyes were all glossy. He stared at Nero so intently that it sent a spark spiraling into his chest.

Nero decided he didn’t want to wait anymore.

“Dante, c’mon,” Nero encouraged with a gravelly, breathless voice. “Weren’t you gonna fuck me?”

Dante licked his tongue over his lips, continuing to stare at his nephew. Nero felt another spark, even stronger. He reached his hands out to Dante and Dante leaned forward to let him grab onto the sides of his face. Nero didn’t care anymore where Dante’s mouth had been, he wanted it on him at that moment. As they kissed, Nero felt Dante pump his fingers into him a few more times. Then he pulled them out. Being empty felt almost as weird as being filled.

Pulling back, Dante grabbed the edge of the towel still under Nero. Nero lifted his hips to let him take the whole thing. Dante wiped off his hand and fingers, then tossed the towel to the side but not completely off the bed. Then Dante picked up the condom from the bed and opened the wrapper. 

While he waited for Dante to put it on, Nero let his hands go to Dante’s chest. He groped at it, feeling the mounds of muscle in the curve of his palm. He let his fingertips rake through that wiry hair. Then he brushed his thumbs over Dante’s nipples. His uncle made a gasping sound. Nero repeated the action and Dante groaned, gritting his teeth. Excited, Nero pinched the hardening buds between his fingers and twisted a little, drawing out more lustful noises from Dante’s mouth.

“You’re pretty sensitive, too,” Nero mused.

Condom finally rolled on, Dante pressed one of Nero’s legs upward again. Nero’s heart throbbed with anticipation. He felt the tip of Dante’s cock press against him. It took way more pressure than Dante’s fingers did, but it did eventually breach into him. It hurt. It felt so solid inside him, stretching him wider and wider. Nero’s breath caught in his throat. 

Dante paused. He swooped forward to press a kiss against Nero’s forehead. Nero let his hands fall back onto the bed near his head. Panting and grimacing, Nero closed his eyes and tried to relax again.

“We can stop if you want to,” Dante said, his breath falling lightly against Nero’s eyelids.

Nero shook his head. “I wanna keep going.”

“Okay,” Dante kissed his forehead again, then he kissed Nero’s nose, and then his lips.

And then Nero felt Dante’s right hand press against his left. Palm-to-palm, fingers sliding between his. Nero squeezed it and Dante squeezed back.

Nero felt Dante’s cock push deeper into him. Slowly but steadily, all the way until his hips met Nero’s rear. The drag made Nero tingle because even though it hurt and felt weird it also pressed against that spot inside him that made him want so voraciously. Dante waited again, until Nero shifted his legs to wrap them about his uncle’s hips. Then Dante started to move, pulling his hips back to move his cock out a bit, then pushing forward to drive it back in. Each time it felt better. Nero got used to it, and then he desired more.

And Dante gave him more. He pulled out further to thrust in deeper, harder. Nero let himself grunt and groan and curse as more heated waves crashed through him and pooled at the base of his spine. His legs squeezed tighter around Dante the faster his uncle fucked into him. 

He kept his left hand interlocked with Dante’s. With his right, he finally reached down to stroke his own cock. Nero tried to keep pace with Dante, but his brain felt too fried to do that. So he just tugged and squeezed erratically, until the pressure inside him was finally too much to handle.

Nero came like it was the first time he ever had, jerking and spasming so hard he thought he might pass out. His cum shot out in great long strands up his stomach and to his chest. He kept stroking his cock and more and more cum flooded out, pooling on his bare skin. His voice was disjointed, a mess of gasping and moaning with each tier of his orgasm. All the while Dante continued to fuck him, sending more spikes of heat through his body and making him come even more.

Suddenly Dante slammed deep into him and went tense, too. Nero could feel how Dante’s muscles clenched and contorted as he came. After the initial release, Dante rocked his hips again. It was a less coordinated action. Dante was just feeling his own climax, chasing it with his body as he panted and growled against Nero’s mouth.

They stayed like that for several long minutes. Breathless and sweating. Nero felt the heat in his body slowly climb down. His pulse started to even out with his lungs. Eventually, he opened his eyes. Dante’s face was so close to his. He waited for Dante to open his eyes, too.

When he did, Dante smiled. It was sort of dopey, like Dante still felt that high post-orgasm sensation. Admittedly, Nero still felt a little giddy as well. He smiled back.

“Hello there,” Nero said drowsily.

“Hi,” Dante sounded just as worn out. “How are you today?”

“Better,” Nero laughed lightly, “Probably gonna need another shower.”

“Mmh, later,” Dante muttered as he finally pulled his depleted cock from Nero.

Nero still felt weird inside. He wondered when that would all go back to normal. He was probably going to ache for a while. 

Dante sat up, pulling his hand away from Nero’s when he did. While Dante worked at pulling the condom off, Nero reached for the towel on the edge of the bed. He used it to clean the cum off of his body, then chucked it over in the general direction of the washing machine. Dante was gonna have a lot of jizz-soaked laundry to wash, Nero thought with a bit of devious satisfaction.

He crawled up further on the bed so he could insert himself under Dante’s blankets and rest himself back on Dante’s pillows. Exhaustion was very quickly settling in; physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

Soon Dante climbed over to join him, sliding under the covers and next to Nero. Nero adjusted a little so he could rest his head against Dante’s shoulder, even now not wanting to be apart from him. Dante seemed to share that sentiment; he reached for Nero’s hand and locked their fingers together again.

They laid there quietly, both looking at their hands. Nero played with Dante’s fingers a little bit, changing the way he held and wove them together, sometimes tracing or hooking them at different angles. Eventually Dante hooked them back together. He raised them up and kissed Nero’s middle knuckles. Nero looked at Dante and found his uncle’s gaze staring back.

“This is gonna be difficult,” Dante said with some finality.

“I know,” Nero sighed, a certain sort of pain settling in his tone, “I know...”

They would never have a normal relationship. It wasn’t like they could do the things other couples did. Everything would have to be hidden, kept secret. This would never be accepted, no matter how much they both wanted to be together or how much they loved each other. Even the people they trusted most couldn’t be trusted to accept it. There was always going to be some sense of shame lingering in the background of everything they did.

But knowing that didn’t change Nero’s mind.

“Oh Vergil’s gonna kick my ass,” Dante whined out suddenly, rubbing his free hand over his deeply furrowed forehead, “He’s gonna _ kill _ me if finds out.”

Nero couldn’t stop the loud laugh that erupted out of him.

“Sure, you laugh,” Dante complained, “He actually_ likes you _ . You stand a chance to _ not get totally fucking obliterated _.”

“Sorry,” Nero apologized even though he was still laughing. “Is your impending doom making you have second thoughts?”

Dante just stared at him for a second. Then he leaned in and kissed Nero’s mouth hard. Nero felt his chest flutter and he kissed back until Dante pulled back enough to answer.

“Not at all.”


	20. Chapter 20

Dante shaved his face, but he didn’t completely remove the beard from his chin. He liked having a little bit of scruff. As a young guy he’d always wanted to grow one, because that was somehow a grand weathervane for manhood. It felt great when he started getting those first rough patches before his brother, at least until he learned that Vergil had them too and just _ chose _ to shave it all off. As an adult, it was sort of a pain to keep his facial hair maintained, but he had to admit he looked damn good when he did. Nero seemed to agree, so that was more incentive to keep shaving as part of his morning routine.

Rinsing off his razor, Dante dabbed it dry with a hand towel, then hung it to dry on its little caddy near the sink. Nero’s razor hung in the second slot, though it was dangling at a weird angle. Dante took a moment to straighten it before going back to check his face in the mirror.

His hair was still damp from his shower, so he ran his towel over it a few times more. Then he brushed it out. Since he was alone, he brushed his hair back, too, slicking it back the way Vergil usually did. It didn’t make them look totally identical anymore. Though if he forced himself to furrow his brow and scowl enough he could manage a more exact similarity. Dante’s hair was too long to hold its shape, so he used a hand to hold it in place. Dante glared at himself with his brother’s glare.

“_Dante_,” He mimicked Vergil’s best threatening tone, “_Are you fucking my son?_”

He dropped his hand and his hair fell back down. Sighing, Dante ruffled it around to dishevel it to his liking. 

“Yeah, Verge,” Dante answered himself, “But I love him, too.”

A conversation that could never happen in real life, if Dante valued keeping all his organs in their proper places. 

He finished getting ready; brushing his teeth and putting on his clothes, then hanging his towel and finally shutting off the light as he left the bathroom. It was cold enough that he really couldn’t justify keeping the furnace off all day. Especially not with Nero living there as well. Giving in, he went to the thermostat and finally switched the heat on.

Glancing across the loft, Dante could see his nephew still sleeping in the bed. He’d buried himself under a mound of blankets. Smiling, Dante walked over and stood at the edge of the bed, looking down over Nero. Nero had grabbed one of the pillows and had his arms wrapped around it, holding it against his chest and basically spooning it under the covers. He usually did that when Dante got up first.

Putting one knee on the mattress, Dante leaned over and pressed a hand against Nero’s shoulder. He gave a gentle shake, trying to rouse him.

“Hey, time to get up,” Dante said.

Nero just made a grumbly noise and tried to shrug off Dante’s hand. Dante leaned down a little more.

“C’mon,” He begged teasingly, “Wake up, little brat.”

Nero growled again. This time his nephew reached up and pressed his hand flat over Dante’s face and pushed to shove him away.

“Fuck off, old man,” Nero’s voice scratched sleepily.

Dante pulled Nero’s hand away by the wrist. Then he planted a kiss against Nero’s palm. Next he lowered to kiss Nero’s inner elbow. By the time he went to kiss Nero’s cheek, Nero was grinning. 

“You know I got a client coming over,” Dante reminded him, “So you gotta get up and make yourself look decent.”

Even though he said that, Dante couldn’t resist making himself a hindrance. He tucked his face into the nape of Nero’s neck and kissed at his skin. He still smelled faintly of sweat and the sexual shenanigans they’d gotten up to the night previous when Nero got home from work. They should have known better than to stay up so late when there were obligations to be met in the morning. They _ did _ know better, but that had rarely stopped them before.

Suckers for temptation, the both of them.

“I’m not the indecent one, right now,” Nero chuckled as he clutched his fingers to the back of Dante’s head.

“Oh baby, don’t tease,” Dante agonized, already feeling himself start to get woefully excited from Nero’s taste and scent, “Please don’t make me beg.”

“Sounds like you’re begging,” Nero pointed out. “_ You’re _ the one coming onto me when you got company coming over.”

He had a point, Dante lamented. Sighing loudly, Dante reeled himself back. Standing next to the bed again, he looked down at Nero expectantly. His nephew finally sat up and stretched. The blankets slid off him and pooled loosely at his waist. Watching the way Nero’s back arched and his chest and abdomen flexed as he stretched made Dante’s inner voice curse inside his head. 

Nero was wrong earlier; he was by far the most sinfully indecent thing in the room. Dante damned whichever brain cell that decided it would be okay to schedule appointments in the morning. All he wanted to do was shove Nero back down and fuck him through the mattress.

When Nero finally started to crawl out of bed, Dante turned and walked over to the dining table. He’d left his case notes there, since he’d been studying them while he waited for Nero to come home. They needed a look-over again anyway. Truthfully, Dante just needed a distraction from the fact that Nero was walking around the loft naked and that made Dante feel so needy it was actually a little embarrassing. The distraction only worked partially. As Nero passed by on his way to the bathroom, Dante couldn’t resist watching him go. His gaze raked down Nero’s back and landed on his ass, watching the way those two apple-like rounds of cheek jiggled just a little bit as Nero walked.

_ Good grief, _ Dante thought as he forced himself to look back at the papers in his hands. Kid was gonna give him a heart attack one day, he just knew it.

Waiting for Nero to shower, Dante did manage to get his papers organized and the details of the case refreshed in his mind. A missing daughter who wasn’t missing at all. He’d found her just fine, living happily with her wife and their growing brood of rescued parrots. It probably would have been a rare happy ending, if the family would just stop trying to wrestle her away and leave the girl alone. How long would they keep paying him to watch her teach a conure how to do a backflip? He decided that, after this meeting, he’d forcibly close the case.

The bathroom door opened. Dante looked up and saw Nero standing there shirtless, though he _ thankfully _ had put pants on at least. He was brushing his teeth, peering out of the open doorway at Dante.

“So, I had an idea,” Nero spoke loudly around his toothbrush, then spat into the sink.

“Yeah? About what?” Dante asked, dropping the case files to the table and striding over to the bathroom.

He leaned against the doorframe and watched Nero continue brushing. There was something weirdly satisfying about seeing Nero just… existing. To see all of his stuff mingling with Dante’s stuff. To watch him walk around and flop all over the furniture and stuff groceries in Dante’s refrigerator. Just a bunch of mundane acts that slowly turned all of Dante’s things into _ their _ things. _ Their _ loft. _ Their home _ , where for at least a handful of hours they could be _ together _ in whatever context they damn well pleased.

“I was thinking about visiting dad?” Nero replied, sounding a little inquisitive, “Just for a little bit.”

Right, Nero still wanted to patch things up with Vergil. Dante wasn’t upset by that. He could understand that Nero wanted to build a relationship with his father. That’s all Vergil seemed to want too. Dante could admit he did feel a small twinge of jealousy that Nero still had a chance to have Vergil involved in his life. But he also knew it was his own fault why he and Vergil could no longer be brothers.

“I mean, if that’s what you wanna do,” Dante shrugged and smiled. “What? Did you expect me to tell you not to?”

“Not really,” Nero said as he rinsed out his toothbrush and jammed it into the holder next to Dante’s. 

Then Nero turned to face him. His arms crossed over his bare chest. Dante recognized that stance. It was sort of defensive. Nero was about to ask Dante something serious. He tried to brace for it.

“I think you should come with me.”

Dante froze and he stared. Because that was ludicrous. That was asinine. That was so _ incredibly stupid _ Dante honestly wondered if he was currently in the throes of some sort of brain aneurysm. Stepping forward, Dante pressed a hand against Nero’s forehead, checking for a fever.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nero asked with a confused sort of stare.

“Did you get another concussion?” Dante asked back.

Nero rolled his eyes. “Dante…”

“Do you realize how stupid that idea is?” Dante pressed, now holding either side of Nero’s face to stare into his eyes. “Because it’s _ really stupid _. You know Vergil wouldn’t even let me through the door to say hi, let alone stay for a friendly chit-chat.”

“You don’t know that. I haven’t even asked him yet.”

“Because you know as well as I do he’ll say no.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

Dante heaved a great, groaning sigh of exasperation, hanging his head to the point his forehead bumped against Nero’s. 

“Fucking idealists,” Dante grumbled under his breath. 

Then Dante straightened up again, his hands still cupping Nero’s face.

“What if he finds out about us? Do you _ want _me to die?”

Nero laughed and shook his head. “Keep your hands to yourself and that won’t be a problem.”

“That’s asking a lot.” Dante sighed again, this time more gentle.

He rubbed his thumbs over Nero’s cheeks affectionately. In a way, he _ could _ appreciate what Nero was trying to do. He cared about Vergil and he cared about Dante. It had to be difficult when the people you cared for most couldn’t handle being around each other. But Nero also had to understand that Vergil despised Dante and he had several pristine reasons to do so.

“You know, he might end up despising you, too,” Dante said softly, “For even just suggesting I come along.”

“I don’t think so,” Nero responded, resting his hands on Dante’s biceps. “I think part of him still cares about you.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll want anything to do with me,” Said Dante.

“We won’t know unless we try,” Said Nero.

Dante swallowed at the dryness in his throat. He still thought it was a _ stupid, no-good, dumbass _ idea. But Nero was stubborn and tenacious. And that was enough to make Dante wonder “what if”, too.

“I’ll think about it,” Dante finally compromised, “I won’t _ promise _ anything. But I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Nero grinned at him and then he tugged Dante forward into a kiss.

***

The meeting went over about as well as Dante thought it would. The client was pissed that he was closing the case. They thought there had to be some sort of way to get the girl to come back. Some sort of legal loophole to say she was a runaway or brainwashed or in mortal danger. But there was no crime. She was an adult who could make her own choices, they would just have to accept that or move on without her.

Dante always sort of hated when elements of his cases reflected parts of his own life.

Nero had left beforehand. He had work later in the day, but he wanted to go out and look at cars first. Soon he’d have enough to buy his own, albeit a used one. Dante admired Nero’s ability to stick to a goal. 

After his client left, Dante busied himself with some work for a couple of different cases. After Nero moved in he thought he’d cut back on his workload. After all, he’d only been working so much in order to distract himself from the fact Nero was gone. But Dante found himself enjoying detective work again, so he kept at it. Plus it helped fill in the hours when Nero was at his job, too.

The mail came around noon. It was mostly the same usual stuff; bills, letters from a couple of clients, and some ads. There was a small package, though, which immediately grabbed his attention over the rest. Dropping the other mail on his desk, Dante turned the package over in his hands appraisingly. It was wrapped in brown paper and felt a little padded. No bigger than a notebook. There was no return address.

Well, that was concerning.

Dante shook it a little but didn’t hear anything rattling around. It didn’t seem to be ticking. It didn’t smell weird either, though he wasn’t really sure what weird-smelling mail would mean for his general well-being anyway. Deciding it _ probably _ wasn’t anything that would immediately kill him, he turned it over and started prying the paper away.

It was a book. No, it was a photo album. A sort of plain one, with black sort of squishy padded covers and gold lettering on one side that read “MEMORIES”. Dante felt unsettled by it before he even opened to the first insert.

The first thing he noticed was the pictures were taken with an instant camera. They had that tell-tale type of white border. The first photo at the top of the first page showed himself. He was standing outside his office checking his mail, not unlike how he had just minutes previous. His clothing was different, though, so it must have been taken sometime in the past.

The second photo contained a spread of papers, laid out on some surface that he couldn’t make out. Squinting closer, he could make out some of the letterheads and icons. They all came from the police department. It was his personnel file, he recognized.

Turning the insert page revealed four more photographs. Each one showed the photographer holding something: Urizen’s precinct ID key badge, a keyring with various strange-looking keys, a handful of bobby pins, and, funnily enough, a crowbar. Dante could tell by the hands and the dark tattoos scrawling up the arms that this was V, though he already knew the moment he opened the book.

Another four pictures clearly depicted the inside of Dante’s office. There was his jukebox. Then his filing cabinets when they were a mess and mostly half-open. Next was an arrangement of his old whiskey bottles. Lastly was his desk, and on top of it the large binder flipped open to the first page. V’s hand was in that one as well, pressed next to the picture on the flyer.

Dante felt his heart twist at that. But he quickly stifled that down to continue on.

The next ten or so pages were all shots of different buildings, inside and out. Dante recognized most of them, as they were places he often frequented. He wondered if the surreal feeling he currently had was how his marks also felt when they found out they were being investigated. Later on in the album were shots of that bar, both before and after it had burned down. One showed it in flames, taken from high up on another building that night.

After that were four pictures of Nero. That made Dante feel queasy. They showed Nero leaving the motel he used to live in, riding on the moped, waiting at the bus stop, and finally one showing him exiting Dante’s building. 

The next set was worse. This time it was him and Nero. All of them inside the loft. It was obvious they’d been taken through the windows. Moreover, they’d probably been taken from the vacant building next door. Dante’s mind raced, trying to figure out how V had managed it. He and Nero were being so careful to keep the blinds closed and the door locked. 

But there it was, four photos of them kissing, and touching, and _ fucking, _and laying together so blissfully unaware that they were being watched. Dante felt an agonizing rage swell inside him and an undeniable fear, too.

That was only made worse by the final photo on the last page. A house. Stately and old. Way older than Dante, or even his parents. They’d kept it so maintained, though. A nice private country home to raise a family. He and Vergil used to play on the warm summer grass, right there. Did Vergil enjoy the garden anymore?

Dante felt himself start to panic; a frenetic and disjointed hum inside him that twisted his stomach into knots and strangled the air from his lungs. His hands ached and burned from how tightly he clutched the edges of the photo album. His eyes burned too. 

V was alive. V knew _ everything _. V was going to visit Vergil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading and leaving your wonderful comments!
> 
> And I hope you'll all come along for the exciting sequel. >D


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